I do not know who I am and there's really nothing sadder than this,
especially when people are constantly questioning you about who you want to be and you don't know what to say or how to act.

I can hardly keep my thoughts together, I don't know how to put them in order. And I--
I am losing myself everyday as I give everything my utmost devotion,
only to find out that I have not been given any in return. 

At this hour of night, I feel empty and useless.
And it's probably true that this tear-stained sheet of paper I'm embedding my thoughts in will mean more to me than I ever did to anybody.

And it's sad because I could never blame them. 
There isn't a specific character that is outshining the radiance of others to love. 
There aren't anymore dreams, or hopes, or hobbies to hold on to. 

Everything is a lie. My entire being is a lie. 
I am caught at intersection point, 
attempting to busy myself by etching out words on the graveyard.

"Come be my savior."
You are not there, and you will never be.
You, my darling, are a lie as well. 

I am not able to kick, or writhe, or scream,
for I am trying to jot down what I'm thinking.
And sometimes when you don't know what you're thinking or why you're thinking,
you just remain completely frozen, with your breath ****** straight out of your lungs 
by those you love the most. 

I can never rely on anyone. 
Nobody cares about you no matter how much they state they do.
They are all a lie, too. 

I am immortal, and I am utterly dead.
I can hardly feel my fingertips at the touch of this pen 
as I am encompassed by a numbness so cold it burns.
For I am a lie, as well.