myself
Are you upset?
I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t do the one thing I rely on. I’m overwhelmed by things I can’t even see. This aggravating collection of sounds that is tormenting my brain will drive me insane. The future is so close, it is within reach but I want to avoid it. Don’t talk about it, don’t question me on it.
Why?
I hate these words. I hate myself. I hate my pretentious rambling when in reality I can’t fucking do it. I can’t keep acting like it helps, like it matters. It’s pathetic and useless and I need to shut my mouth. I can’t keep going.
You’re scared.
Why am I so afraid? I’m just a fucking coward who can’t just accept reality. I don’t want to try or be or live. I’d rather die than face the harsh truth of this world, I’ll take the easy way out, it’s the path I always pick.
You don’t want that. You know that.
Just make it stop already.
You’re pathetic.
Pathetic I am. I’ll never be anything more than what I am. I’ll talk to myself, confused and alone it will listen.
I hate you.
I know. I just want to write and bleed. Go away. Take your stupid fucking metaphors and leave.
It’s just you. Still writing
And I hate it. There is no less of a pathetic way for me to spend my time. Soaking and resenting my own mind. Stop thinking, stop creating. Be what you aren’t and stop feeling. You don’t want to. Fucking scream. Do it. Just open your fucking scars again. You know it’ll help. You know the air sucking in through your teeth will bring clarity. These repetitive foggy depressing words just make it worse. Do it. Fucking come back to reality and save yourself from your misery. Stop writing you damn fool. Stop. Stop. Fucking stop.