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I have no words left to say.
This empty feeling won’t go away.
Everything comes and go.
No one ever stays.
It’s been a rough week.
Listen... I said I was

•F• alling Apart
•I• nsecure
•N• eglected
•E• mpty

So if I say that I'm •FINE•.... I'm •FINE•... I'm not lying to you...
Its just some are too ****** to realize what the word •FINE• actually means...
Do you ever think
the painter
gets tired of his colors?
Who decides what’s right and what’s wrong?
How do we distinguish what to do in a tough situation?

Overwhelmed as our brain floods with water,
Mixing the black and white
Into a gray,
We can’t find the answer
Because there simply is no answer.

Everything is just gray.

We blindly choose,
Hoping for the best,
But little to our knowledge,
Based of this choice
A ripple begins,
And slowly spreads through the pond of our life,

Simply growing larger
And larger
Spreading further
And further,
An unstoppable force,
Continually altering,
more and more

Until the whole pond becomes

A wave of heat rushes through your heart,
Like electricity through a power surge.
It grabs ahold of your body,
Like a demon possessing your being

Heart pounds,
Harder and harder,
Louder and louder,
Faster and faster,

You’re desperate,
Searching for a way to rid yourself of this feeling,
Anything for a way out.

What did you do that was so wrong?
Why are you so forgiving when it is not reciprocated?

The heat begins scorching your heart,
You feel the aching pain and it overpowers you
You grow darker and darker,
The heat is so powerful it leaves permanent burn marks,
It’s too much to handle,
The darkness must be stopped it before it takes full control.

You finally give in:
I’m Sorry
You open the door. The fresh wind gusts through the door, your face flushes the burst of air overwhelming you.

There stands a silhouette, a familiar scent rushes through and a presence that brings warmth. Yet you still cannot identify that which stands before you.

The forefront of your mind screams. You know this. You want this. Just Think.

No matter how fast your brain processes, you cannot find the answer within this sea of emptiness.

You give up. Instead, you reach out. Grab ahold of the figure, then you’ll know.

You close your eyes and extend your hand. You grab ahold. Until you realize, you’re holding on to nothing. The figure has vanished and you’re alone.

A light shines down as you peer through the door only to see a mirror. You see yourself: mangled, unruly, changed, angry, upset. Not the same. Not good enough.

You want to slam your hands against his chest. Bruise his face, break him down because he allowed himself to break down. But yet, at the same time, you yourself cannot find the strength to fight.

You still push forward. You shove him back, throw a right hook, knock him down, kick him.

You continue to beat on him, but he is silent. Taking every punch, every kick, every bruise, every broken bone. Not even a single flinch.

He slowly stands up, awaiting more, begging. He finally utters two single words,

“Keep going”.

A second rush comes over you, you pick him up and throw him to the ground. Stomp on his chest, he’s spitting blood, but you keep going. Not because you have anger left, but because he wants it.

You want to prove you have strength. You want to prove you can do this. You want to prove you can beat your demons, even if they are yourself.

He’s finally had enough.

He lay there, ******, defeated. You look up, close your eyes, open them.

You look down, and the broken body is gone. Instead there’s a mirror. You take a hard look. Once again you just see a dark figure, but you look past that. You see yourself. This time a reflection.

You have a black eye, bloodied face, lost teeth. You lift up your shirt to see bruised ribs.

This whole time you were attempting to fight your demon, your demon that was begging for more, you were beating on yourself. No restraint, no mercy, pure enjoyment.

You just want to feel strong, to feel worthy, to feel good enough.
But you’re not.

How could you be?

How could you be good enough for someone else when you’re not even good enough for yourself.

You’re weak. You’re scrawny. You cannot protect yourself, let alone anyone else.

You are nothing,
but a joke.

Feeling empty
and worthless
and meaningless
and alone
how can I make it stop
I need to make it stop
it hurts
I feel like
i am burning
will it ever stop
please tell me
that someday it will stop
because if not
I need to make it stop
A 6d
I'll give you my fingers,
If I get your bones,
You can have my arms,
If I can take your skull.

You can take my heart, beating, from my chest,
I'll have yours in return,
If it isn't the best.

I'll give you my thoughts, wrapped up in saran,
If I can have your dreams,
The fastest in your clan.

It'll be a trade-off,
So easy you'll see,
So take me and I'll take you,
We'll fill in those empty spots,
That just won't do.
As I sat by the edge
And stared down in wonder
I felt a hand upon my shoulder
A cold and familiar sight
It was Death, again by my side

She looked at me as always
With her usual smile
Even though, it had been a while
I took her hand in mine
For what felt like the hundredth time

She then asked of me,
"What is it now, my dear?
Is there something new you fear?"
A chuckle from my lips fell,
"Oh love, you know me so well"

She softly leaned against me
And lightly hummed in thought,
"I do, we used to talk a lot"
I remembered all my strife,
"Yes, before I got busy with life"

I saw her frown a bit
"I still think of you often"
At that her features softened,
"I know you do", she said
That she was glad went unsaid

She looked at me sweetly,
"I'm a patient woman"
And I was just a man,
I wouldn't live forever
"One day, we'll finally be together".

We smiled,

Both with love.

And me,

With hope.
Back when I wrote this it had been a while since I had last thought of dying. I was busy, too distracted to really sit and think of how bad I really felt, but eventually I had some free time, and naturally my thoughts drifted to this. I wasn't really sad, nor desperate to die, just empty, and more than a little tired. I thought of Death wistfully, like one thinks of an old lover who you never quite stopped loving, one who deep inside you still hope to see again.

I don't relate this with suicide, it's not what I wanted at the time. I wanted to rest, I felt tired of living, and as such daydreamed of the day far in the future in which I could truly rest in peace.
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