Radishes

There are voices in my head. Lots of them. Most sound attractive.
They keep telling me they love me. They tell me smile, smile, laugh. Happy, smile, smile, friends, smile, giggle.
They are driving me insane. I don't want to be happy. Because when I'm happy, I find fault. Because when I'm happy I start to hope. Hope is horrid. hope is everything I wish for and will never get. It kills me to see something in my reach, but ultimately my short stature and useless tip toes keeps me centimeters away. And I'm too damn lazy to go find a chair. So I fall. Then I won't be happy anymore and I'll just be sad sad sad.
Because being sad and emo and depressed and emotionally unstable and psycho is good. I can finally feel something.
I cut myself just now. It wouldn't clot and just kept bleeding. Beads of red metallic gross.
It didn't hurt at all. Not even when I washed it. Not a bit.
I want to feel feelings that burst like fucking fireworks. Not stupid trickles of happy that amount to nothing. I want something more than everything. All I want is to want and get.

My radishes are growing so well. I had to repot them because they were getting too big. They look beautifully delicious. I can't wait to eat them. Eat back all the love I poured out, all the water and fertilizer and money.

Someone is trying to sell me bad bad bad things. And I have no self-control.