The words don’t sound right anymore.

Speaking isn’t like it used to be…writing isn’t like it used to be…

They sound like metal words from mechanic hands, robotic monotone layers with overtones of a distinct loneliness.

I find myself so lost…when everyone else is so found. In a world of utter destruction…but not ruins…just the obliteration of sanity. I am no longer the boy I was.

The boy who wound up in trouble innocently. The boy who plucked dandelions from the ground. The boy who laughed without having to fake it. The boy who smiled unwillingly instead of forcefully.

The boy who once wanted to live.

But now…

All I feel…is the constant ripping of my skin. The cold burning holes into my wrists, leaving pale purple remnants of a former self. The only memory I have of that person I used to be.

 

Now here I am…crying to myself while others laugh. No matter how much I want to let it all out…I never do. I write…about all that I’ll never have.

 

I force myself to write…even when I don’t even like to write anymore…

 

Meaningless shadows fall onto the paper, shaping into mangled forms of inky flesh. Creating letters upon letters.

 

Even though

I have failed

To live

That doesn’t mean

That

Everyone else

Has given up

So let my tears

Be the reminder

That you

Don’t

Let it

Get as bad

As

I

Did.

 

I don’t know what else to say…other than I’m sorry.

 

And…

Goodbye…