| Noose... |
Oh God, I don't even know where to start...
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How optimistic of me to think that writing everything down is somehow going to make it all better. How childish of me to believe in kindness, security, and many other things that have come to be mere remnants of the past I never had. If I could only make it all go away, then... then nothing changes. I would be left empty as I ever was.
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If only I could have known you were so ready to be alone. If I could just remember what it was that made it all so... I don't fucking know. How could it end like this? What is it that makes you hate me most? Was I so blind to think I ever was that close?
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Don't do this to me. I don't want to play anymore. This game stopped being fun a long, long time ago.
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I don't know how much more I can take. What is it going to take for me to let it go? And do I really want to? I don't know where my head is, or where it's supposed to be. Where should I be headed? What do I want? What can I have? I don't know anything anymore. Everything I know is wrong. Everything is so god damn contorted, twisted out of control. I can only pretend to be who everyone thought they knew.
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It seems solitude is all that's left for me. I am living in a dark world, a false reality. How do I avoid this constant cold? Why does it matter to me? I'm thinking with a careful prose. I watch my steps so carefully. I don't want to leave you, I just want you to let me be.
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What happened to make it all this way? Was it you or was it me? And why so many questions that nothing ever seems to care enough to finally make an answer to let me be at peace?
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I am so alone. So many people all around me, none of them ever seemed so false as now. Why so much hate and anger? Why this need to be controlled? All around, the fog, the frost, this sad and lonely... grey.
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It isn't you. It can't be. The only one who could control is me. What is it going to take for my eyes to see clearly again? How much do I have to lose before there's nothing left beneath a sorrowful sack of skin that's constanly begging not to freeze.
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Inertia. A driving force I can't seem to direct. It has to go somewhere, but there's nowhere left for it to go. How does it all connect? Why can't I figure out what it means?
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I am trying so hard not to let it get to me. I am a man. A fragile creature, I can't get anywhere; I only get by. Why so many people simply waiting just to die?
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What's it going to be? Them or me? Them or me?
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This has to be the chorus. I think we've all been here before. But not like this, never ever like this. I'm flying freely in a cage I probably created on my own.
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This isn't a cry for help, just a rude awakening.
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Just let me be.
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Dear Diary,
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I want to be free.