To whomever who may be reading this,

I've heard that sometimes sadness can't be explained.
Sometimes the reason it's there is because it just is.
The same way that when someone asks you why you're okay, you say you just are.
And why you simply accept that colours exist because they just do.

Like how if you were to ask that boy at that school on New Years' Day why he loved that girl he could prattle on about her pros and cons but fact of the matter is that it was just her. And she was just everything he could ever hope for in that moment.

And that is how I'd like you to explain my death.


                                                                                        It just happened.


I came home that day and I just felt immensely dissatisfied with my existence.
So I carved my arms and wore my favourite dress only to stain it with blood.
Then I took those sleeping pills I bought of that kid by the alleyway and swallowed them all.

It wasn't your fault, Mom.
                                             You thought I was strong enough.
It wasn't your fault, Dad.
                                           I just didn't believe anymore.

To my brothers and sisters and aunts and cousins,
                                                                                     none of you would've seen it coming.

It's none of your faults. It's mine.

                                                         And I know I'm going straight to hell but I deserve to burn for my sins.



Goodbye.