Everyone is going to die anyway, it doesn't have any preorder, reason, plot or anything, you can be living for two days and die, or you can live for 80 years and see everyone else die. So why should you care? Why should I care? Its meaningless, tiring, hopeless and, in the end we will just end up gone anyway.
I know that, and yet, here I am, hopelessly waiting for a miraculous courage, to be able to do it, as if there would be an angel who would come from the heavens and just pluck me away from this existence. As if the devil would ever care enough about one more soul, to come and take mine.
Thing is I alone, can't do this. I am too weak, I am too coward. So all I can do, is maintain the maximum of possible ways out ready. And wait, alone, wait and wait and wait, for an accident, an illness, an heart attack, or just wait for me to die from depression. I always ask myself, why should I be alive today? and 90% of the time, it just doesn't have any reason whatsoever, not a single dream, not a single person, nothing. I am so fucking useless that not even I can handle myself anymore.
And then, in the morning, i go and look at myself in the mirror. Everything I see is a fucking ugly face, of a damned person. A person I hate so much, but so much, that even the idea of them being alive is enough for me to want to kill them. So I go, I prepare myself all over again, take what i need, lock the bedroom im in, so no one can rush directly to try to save me, aaaaaaand.... I sit there, with an empty mind, looking at my reflection at the sharp edge. I cant think, I cant move, I can't.
its almost funny isnt it? being so desperate to go, and not being able to do it.
then I wake up, once again, without being able to do anything. My mind so up in the clouds, that even my body doesn't seem to be my body anymore. With every connection with reality being that thin, almost if I could blink out of consciousness, forever. I try to make people think that I am okay, so they cant discern my plan, I try to be at least the minimum of social, so my familly won't think I have any problems. I fake smiles, I fake interest, I fake my life one more day. So I can go and sit down on bed, seeing my reflection once again, at the edge. But there Isn't anything, its just an empty husk.
... Why I am writing this? After all, why should you care? at the end, we are just one more soul.
I know that, and yet, here I am, hopelessly waiting for a miraculous courage, to be able to do it, as if there would be an angel who would come from the heavens and just pluck me away from this existence. As if the devil would ever care enough about one more soul, to come and take mine.
Thing is I alone, can't do this. I am too weak, I am too coward. So all I can do, is maintain the maximum of possible ways out ready. And wait, alone, wait and wait and wait, for an accident, an illness, an heart attack, or just wait for me to die from depression. I always ask myself, why should I be alive today? and 90% of the time, it just doesn't have any reason whatsoever, not a single dream, not a single person, nothing. I am so fucking useless that not even I can handle myself anymore.
And then, in the morning, i go and look at myself in the mirror. Everything I see is a fucking ugly face, of a damned person. A person I hate so much, but so much, that even the idea of them being alive is enough for me to want to kill them. So I go, I prepare myself all over again, take what i need, lock the bedroom im in, so no one can rush directly to try to save me, aaaaaaand.... I sit there, with an empty mind, looking at my reflection at the sharp edge. I cant think, I cant move, I can't.
its almost funny isnt it? being so desperate to go, and not being able to do it.
then I wake up, once again, without being able to do anything. My mind so up in the clouds, that even my body doesn't seem to be my body anymore. With every connection with reality being that thin, almost if I could blink out of consciousness, forever. I try to make people think that I am okay, so they cant discern my plan, I try to be at least the minimum of social, so my familly won't think I have any problems. I fake smiles, I fake interest, I fake my life one more day. So I can go and sit down on bed, seeing my reflection once again, at the edge. But there Isn't anything, its just an empty husk.
... Why I am writing this? After all, why should you care? at the end, we are just one more soul.
Last edited:
