Humans and demons,
Fighting for life.

That is all we are.

No angels here,
No good act truly pure.

We are all evil, in our own way.

A refusal to trust, a refusal to love,
All our impurities shown at the end.

For death, yes, she is the only pure one here.

Cleaning up humanity's messes,
Ending grieving souls' suffering.

The last hope for the cruel people that we are.

Perhaps she is not innocent, nor is she fair,
But who, if anyone, could do better?

I can't even tell if I'm human anymore.

I disappointed everyone again,
So what's different this time around?

My little box filled to the brim,
My hidden secrets and emotions bubbling out.

What's different this time?
Why has the darkness continued to grow?

The thing is,
I'm falling to pieces.

And I know it, too.
But I can't stop it.

Nobody can.

So where will my words go this time?
Whose hearts will I destroy with my dark thoughts?

My friends, my family,
Everyone I love...

Gone in the blink of an eye,
Because I failed yet again.

So let's celebrate my achievements,
We'll surely be depressed.

I'm not like my friends,
I can't be as pretty and peppy as them.

I'm not like my mother;
She can make love last a lifetime.

I can't be my father,
Loyal and loving and providing.

I'm not who you thought I was,
Not in a million years.

I'm the one who's thoughts cut deep,
Even deeper than the knife I wield.

I seem to get lost in my head,
Anxiety and panic attacks every time I think.

I'm the one you should be afraid of,
Don't try to come close and comfort me.

My thoughts won't remain hidden,
My mask won't fit any more.

So if you come close,
You'll see me.

And you'll never be able to forget.

If there is one thing I can say,
It's that, over the years, I have learned.

Mainly, I know
That what I think

And what I write
Aren't always the same.

My hands have a mind of their own,
My fingertips play with the keys.

So many keys,
Which have so many letters on them.

My mind screams for happiness,
A lie I have always told,

Jumbling in a huge mess,
While my hands play on.

Maybe I have a plan,
But it doesn't seem it to me.

While my mind begs for happiness,
My hands record my darkness.

Sometimes, I wonder,
Am I trapped inside my own head?

Refusing to believe the written on the page,
I just make up my own.

Is this what constitutes insanity?
Or is it my own lack of ability,

My refusal to see the light,
Even in the brightest of days?

My own thoughts like flies,
Drawn to the stench of my rotting mind?

Is this my own choice, my own fate?
Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

I hate living
In this endless,
Cyclical world.

It tires me...

The constant abuse
Of inspiration,
Loved ones...

It's all monotone.

Still, my breath hitches
In that split second
Before the metal hits my skin.

I cry out for help, no one's there.

I wish I could cry,
But It's all the same.
Always has been, to me.

My life lacks colour.