simon_reitstaetter_text

ghosts, the unknown, uncanny, the unconsciosness. i remeber me walking down a

street. there were no cars, nobody. just me and the buildings. it was dark. night. it was so silent, the only sound - my footsteps. i walked down the street, till i came to a crossing. i looked up. there, high above me was the stoplight swaying. it was red. intense. glowing. like blood on a dead body.

i stand there, staring at the red sign. – notihing - no movement, no sound. i close my eyes. the red in the dark hurts me. my head sinks. i breathe, heavily. in my mind i try to recall a room. i must think of the white room. – the white room – white walls, a dull, a dark floor. lights, bright. the emty space – my private ground zero.

i remeber, i ditnt took my pills today. these tiny little capsules that keep me off from going made. this must be a nightmare, i tell my self, this must be a an attack. i havent had a psychotic episode for more than a year. i open up my eyes. the stoplight still red – like the blood that pour out my veins that time i cut them. i have gone far from that time on, too far to look back, too far even to remeber that suicide.