the high.

Sometimes it is so intense.

Far beyond the universe.

No air.

Just space.

Just nothingness.

Never has darkness been so beautiful.

I like it up here.

Wherever here is.

I escape the grip of my thoughts.

They can no longer smell my blood.

They can no longer hunt me.

I am safe.

Addicted to the sound of my breath.

And the taste of my own spit.

Wrapped in the warmth of my own denial.

Calmed by my own lullabies.

The high becomes my home.

My home becomes my hell.

I am unsure of when the transition happens.

But eventually I awake.

The high fades.

The darkness becomes light.

And to my thoughts I again become prey.

-k.e.

Pictures taken by Chole McIntosh.