Winter makes me feel some sort of closure. Some dark, and familiar nightmare that I crave to have over and over again. I never want to wake up. The smell of the heater, coffee, book pages, jackets, and pens. It's so comforting in a cruel and sickening way. It reminds me of tears and screams. Getting what I deserve and being pushed to a shadowed corner. I love it. Being sane for a long period of time has brought insanity upon me and I have shown it well. To me, winter is like the opening season for disappointment, long journal entries, and crying. And it is by far my most favorite season of them all. I feel so free, so ALIVE, and completely and utterly different. Like I was born on some other planet and placed to live with disgusting humans. Death and beyond faces me everyday, crawling along the edges of my shadows waiting for me to turn and accept the offer of eternal damnation.