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Song: Nine Inch Nails - Ghost 1 (From Album Ghosts)...Just play it and then read.

I wrote this during one of my worst spiraling dark depressions... Thankfully haven't felt this way in years but this is one of the things that remains to remind me of just how dark and deep the rabbit hole goes if you really want to go all the way... the song it's meant to be played in the background... it aids in the despondency.

By the way I didn't draw this picture although I wish I did... I found that years ago on the internet and loved it because it totally reminds me of the house I was picturing while I was writing this... I imagined being forgotten in a house just like this.

The unnamed journal entry - 12/13/2009:

You walk in, absorbing it all.

Torrents of stale white and yellow sunlight penetrate rose drapery, blasting corpuscular rays of crimson across wisps of smoke, steam and flesh. The semblance of blissful peace is detracted by the nag of emptiness and emotional rot.

Something has gone terribly wrong here.

Why does the air bleed? Why does it slither and dribble veins of sorrow across your cheek? Why does it whisper horrifying echoes of the forgotten's pleading in your ear with such a piercing theatrical presence?

Something died here. The sun never shined so eerily...

A man lays naked, curled around 3 empty bottles of yesterday's whiskey - taken for the hair on his chest he should have earned. Oh, but he is not a man, just the shell of where a man once lay. His pride, his prize, his behind the horizon prowess, his soul - has long since been shattered, strewn and kicked around the floor like twisted shards of piggy bank ceramic that had been searched through for all of its treasure.

Love died here...

What a waste you think, searching through that shattered bank for treasures that others may have overlooked. He isn't going to need it where he's going.

Probably just some worthless has-been, never-was or will be honestly. A no name two bit user who didn't know when to stop... Or start. Thoughts like that make the looting so much sweeter, the reward that much more rewarding.

"He deserved it I bet" you say as you begin to make your way back out.

The gentle grazing of an emaciated skeleton hand tries to grab hold of your ankle as you make haste past the man for the exit but closes snapping knuckles with a whole fistful of nothing. You stop and look back upon the face of him with a judging scowl.

"Where was God?" he utters out before a long winded death rattle; all the while wrenching his mangled body back around the bottles like a mother protecting her children. Those bottles used to protect him. Irony.

"What a terrible thing" you think, staring at the thing that lay before you... The man? "Your God gave you this paradise? Next time you hang your head in shame, don't look up for answers... Just talk to the dirt" you advise as a smug look of sincerity wraps your lips and brow.

Alarm sirens crash from a faux-wood digital clock on a table across the room proclaiming the time "11:34."

Indeed... Indeed

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