It wasn't always like this. I wasn't always like this. I was happy. But it's been so long since I felt the warmth of that feeling, I no longer allow it for myself. I'm so use to the cold empty feeling of sadness that I don't need jackets. I don't need scarfs or sweaters or blankets or the touch of another human being because I've made peace with this monster. This disease. This virus that stomps around in my head and flows through my veins and fills my lungs. This thing is now a friend and I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because it's never leaving. It has built a home inside me and refuses to leave. It grows every time I try to smile or laugh. It pushes the happiness out of me like that is the real disease. I don't know how to stop it from talking to me. During the day it whispers to me. During the night it screams. It screams so loud it's voice echoes and multiplies. It tells me stories of death and how beautiful he is. How soft and caring he is. How painless he is. How gentle he is. It tells me how death enters quietly so not to wake you in your sleep. How death slowly approaches you and softly caresses your hair out of your face. How death, with every touch, slowly strips every piece of life out of you. How death takes your hand and pulls the soul out of your dying, decaying, lifeless body. How death lovingly and carefully kisses your now ghostly lips and tells you everything is going to be okay. But I've always wondered, if death were to visit me, would he shiver when he touched me because I've been so cold for so long. Wouldn't that be something. If I could make death, the iciest thing you can imagine, feel cold for the first time. I wonder if he would weep when he saw everything in my mind. Wouldn't that be something. If I could make death cry. Would he feel remorse. Would he try and fix me rather than **** me. I dream of life after death. I think of how warm I'd feel. How soft the grass would be under my feet. How my jaw would ache from finally being able to smile. How my eyes would be blinded from finally seeing beauty. Wouldn't it be something if this sadness introduced me to death and finally gave me a life I have never lived.