It's ok, it's ok, you can lie
but when I leave
Don't dare to cry

فقدتُ اهتمامي بكلّ شيء، يرتديني الضجر، و لا صبر لي لانتظار النهايات، أو الاستماع لأحدهم يتحدثُ عن يومه. أبترُ مقطوعة موسيقية لأبدأ من وسط أُخرى، أكتفي بمشاهدة عشر دقائق من الأفلام، أقرأ صفحةً من كلّ كتابٍ بجانب سريري، و لا أجلسُ في مكان واحد لما يزيد عن دقيقتين.

I no longer care about anything.
boredom covers my body, and I can't even be patient enough to wait for the end, any end, or to hear you talking about your day.
I cut one peace of music to start from the middle of another one. I watch 10 minutes from each movie and read a page from each book on my desk.
I can't stay in one place for more than two minutes.
And I'm bored. I'm bored with people, life, and myself.

I think about death a lot lately. Again.
I don't need positive crap, or fake hope.
I thought maybe I need someone. But no, someone is not what I need too.
Maybe I should do something, I did.
But still, the worms inside keep moving whatever I do.
I can feel my flesh melting, finding its way between my ribs.
Suddenly a storm of fireworks start to raise my body temperature to the extent I have to take off my own skin.
I do take off my clothes when I feel like taking off my skin. Mom hates that, she doesn't know how it feels to burn alive from the inside so it's ok.
I don't really want to die, but the black hole inside me won't just leave me alone.
Dad says I should look at myself in the mirror and talk to her, encourage her, but all I want is to take her out of the mirror and tear her apart into very little chewy pieces.
Death, it's a weird thing to dream about in my twenties.

This night is weird.
I can't hear the moon screaming, I can't hear the sound of my neighbor tear drops, or the smile of mother.
It's so quite.
Usually, all the hidden things come to life at night, but This night seems to **** love and pain.