| Noose... |
What makes it so as I have to base my feelings on another's? If they are sad, as am I. I can only be happy when they are. When they cry, I wish to die, and carry their pain with me.
Why should it matter to me? It's not my business how they feel. Besides, some things are perfectly content the way they are, right?
Are they? Really? Maybe they are. What if they aren't? Then what? Do I stand by and watch as life consumes them? How could I? I could. It's easy. Just keep away and don't pay attention to the silent screams of sadness. I can't. I would rather die. But that's the easy way out. If I die, I'm giving up too easily. I can't do it. Help me.
No. Help them. They are the ones that need the help. I'll survive. I've done it before. I've seen the face of Death, and I laughed into it. Help them now, for they should not have to suffer as I. It's not fair to them.
Leave it alone; it's not broken. But when I find it with even a scratch, I'll be there with polish, and paint, and buff. I'll help restore it to its former beauty.
She has her goodness now.
When Everything Was Ugly... - And Ugly It Remains...