. . .
I don’t know what to write anymore. It’s all been said. Multiple times. I’m tired of seeping pain through this stupid keyboard and onto this indifferent screen. I’m tired of staring at these words knowing that they are mine yet lose all their meaning. Detached mess of letters splashed across your screen.
It’s all useless in the end, anyway. What am I achieving with this? Nothing. Writing is no more a solace. Not for this (I’ve even run out of metaphors :|). No one who knows, fully understands. I don’t expect others to pry me open either. The few who do actually know me are probably as clueless as I am. And I get it, a lot of people have it much worse than I do but that doesn’t ease my pain any less. I wish it did but it doesn’t. I’m still feeling that same fucking emotion and I don’t know what to do about it anymore. The same feeling with the same tears and the same desperation. What am I to do?
Can’t stay silent anymore but won’t scream this agony. No. Now it feels like that’s all I’m made of. Pain. Anger. Bitterness. This is my entity. This is my being. I’m afraid that even if I manage to push the words out of me, all that will be left behind would be an empty shell. At least there’s something under this skin of mine. Even if it’s a stanger’s essence I no longer acquaint with. Something is better than nothing.
I give up. That’s it.
. . .
I say all of these things but I’ll still crawling back. Where else can I go ?