I have nothing left to say...
My words have been unwritten.
Depression consumes me to the last bits of my insanity.
I live pretentiously like it doesn’t bother me, like it doesn’t hurt, or mean anything.
I live in pain, everyday.
It’s become apart of who I am, of who I am meant to be. Like living without this pain, would be worthless.
I let it consume me, control me.
My anxiety rushes through my veins and the voices and conversation won’t stop.
My mind never stops.
And when I’m alone, which is constantly, the thoughts eat me up alive like a rotting corpse is writhing inside of me.
I’ve learnt to get used to it, living with such intense feelings and a consumable mind never gets better, it only gets worse.
I’ve let the pain become me.
The person I hide.
It’s the only love I let myself embrace.
I was born to be alone, living in lonesome misery for eternity.
Thoughts get dark, things get deep, and since I’m alone everyday, it gets even darker.
I hate people.
Stupid, fake, and you can’t trust any of them.
But sadly, I need them for mere distractions.
That’s all they are, temporary distractions.
They never stay, I don’t either.
I’ve learnt to keep my emotional distance.
Staying detached keeps you from getting hurt.
But what I long for, I will never find.
Born to be misunderstood and to die alone I shall....
This misery will be the death of me.
So it be.