I tear my heart open just to feel my crimson slime drip through the cracks of my shattered ribs. I cut through my charades of arms and skins and let the red hot blade slide through and burn the wounds so I leave no mess. I'm a ***** mess as I walk barefooted down badly paved roads. It's the darkest hour of the night, But no one told me it would be the warmest. I stepped across the tared pavement street with my bare, ***** feet. I walked for miles in the darkest hours. I walked without shoes, I walked without shirt. I walked across highways, I walked through towns. People only stare and gawk at the less fortunate. But who said that I was less fortunate? I was driven by only one purpose, To make someone else happy. I did not do this for myself. I was on no pilgrimage. I took the walk in the darkest hours just to see a love of mine. I had fallen in love and out of reality. I had lost many friends; many resources; much credibility. I beat the ground until my knuckles bled. I caused more intentional harm to my own body than anyone or thing had done to me in ten years time I've traversed this path many a time but it never gets any easier. To think I'm doing this based upon a thought or rumor. To think of all I've done and yet I am poor; I am cold; I am walking to find a place to sleep. A place where I may rest my chin up upon a rope and slip off the rock underneath. A place where I could be happy and rest in a peace I haven't known in years. It's like you're spitting fire in your words. I can feel every syllable slap across whatever scarred canvas I have left. That's really all I am isn't it? A canvas where you can paint whatever picture you want; because you know I'll follow your every demand. Have I just become your toy? I tell everyone I do it out of love. I tell myself I do it out of love. But really, Is it just muscle memory? Lately I've been losing sleep. Even less sleep then I would normally get, rolling about and wallowing in my own despair. Isn't that sad? Isn't there some way I can actually convince myself it's supposed to be like this? What's it matter. The farther I walk the less I realize how far I stray from the side of the road. These yellow lines? I'm in the middle? But how? I haven't even noticed myself drifting. Drifting? Wasn't I just walking? But how? And that's when it hits me. The branch, I mean. How could I not even notice I've hung my own body? Has my life really come down to this? Walking barefoot down a cold road to find a nice place to die? What's it matter, you know? sometimes rambling is best. Just to be heard. Just to know someone is out there, looking at my words and knowing I exist. I exist. You know what? That's right. I do exist and ******* if that's what I have to tell myself to stay here, I'll do it for you. Because I love you. And not hell or high water will change that. I love you and I'm here for you. I exist. Please remind me I exist?