Who'd have thought? I can't quite breathe. Not worthy of air anyway. I'm almost at peace, but too agitated to reach it. (And perhaps a bit too short? [that's just as metaphorical as it is literal]) Due apologies for my existence... (I don't deserve your inevitable kind words of support... not at all. Please don't waste time.) I'm incredibly sick of trying. Simple. I just can't, anymore. Can't try. And there's really no reason to. There's nothing left to do... nowhere I can go... nothing I can be... Empty desolation has me by the throat. It's all the same. Death... I'll pray that He takes me. It's of my own volition. I might just have too much arrogant pride at the moment to do anything myself. That's all there is. I am simply not smart enough to lay out a string of profound words in a perfectly-crafted context. Not creative enough to leave anyone with thoughts so deep they cannot sleep. Not entertaining enough to do a trick. ("Fetch. Roll over. Pull a rabbit out of your hat.") I used to be. I was strong. I've been melted. Consumed. No complaints, though. It's how I wanted it. There is no "what's making you feel this way?" There is no "what's going on? Talk about it..." There is no "It'll pass... it'll get better... won't be like this forever." There is no "Look how far you've come. Look how much you've gotten through." Honestly. Hopeless. I see how dead everything is. Everything around me is becoming just as ugly as I feel. This is no painfully passing breeze. Maybe it used to be. I don't feel that anymore. It's just... my chest hurts... I'm not sure what anyone thinks I am, but I can be damned-near-certain that it's far too positive of a view. I am scarred, but empty and uncaring... There isn't anymore. I don't know how to externalize the hell that's in my head, nor should I. What I said was all I have and all I needed to release. This couldn't be more whiny. And I couldn't be more sorry.