I can remember wanting to die since I was 13 years old. Bankruptcy, turncoats, and death after death crushed what little faith I had. I blamed God every day and started cutting again hoping the open wounds would bleed out the pain. I started drinking every day hoping it would numb me from the things I couldn’t name. Stayed away from home with little to no parental guidance looking for anything to fill a void. Today is no different. Trapped in a jail of my own making with two people who reinforce the uselessness I feel and the failure I hold. No solace found in one who should serve as a mental escape from the world. Loftless days spent with or without companionship still feel like empty dark nights. The sun doesn’t even hold a place in beauty anymore. The small sweet pains of cuts and bruises are sometimes the only things that remind me I’m alive. The in-between times of tempered pseudo happiness fade as quickly as they come and leave me waiting for something I’ve never had. The emptiness I feel is only matched by the confusing question of “Why me?” The God I pray to has not left me but I’m not sure if I’m looking for the right answers. Soul searching does little when you’re not sure if you have one anymore. I’m starring in a horror movie and I don’t even have the script. This world was not made for minds like mine. The darkness slips in so easily and no one has a bright enough light. If I had the nerve. I wake up and think to myself how easily I could vanish. How simple it would be to just leave this soiled world behind. Leave it to the people it has turned into monsters. The soul eaters that walk the earth with only purposes of wrong and unjust. Why do their prayers get answered? Probably because of the god they prey to. Where has the inspiration gone? I keep expecting something to give but no matter what I give I get nothing. Maybe I deserve it all. What I get is punishment for the way I am. I wonder why I am still here sometimes. Why am I constantly consistently on the low end of the totem pole? Maybe I don’t try hard enough. Maybe I don’t try at all and I’m just costing through life taking whatever comes. The loss of passion in life is as draining as living. Not having anyone who truly understands or being alone in a crowd is my daily bread. I live on the fact that no one would shed a tear if I were to leave or vanish. If this isn’t true, then why do I feel it every day? Why is it a constant reminder every second I am awake? The ones I called friends for years treat me like a stranger, insult me, disrespect my house, feign interest but rarely support. My newer friends are just there and most don’t know the severity of anything. It’s probably unfair to expect friends to help get you out of a slump or a lifetime of self-hatred. It’s not their problem. This is not their life. This isn’t a life at all. This is mere existence and I am tired. But I still don’t have the nerve. I’m not cowardice enough to pull the trigger. To slide the knife. To swallow the pill. So I’m stuck. Stuck in a world I don’t belong in, don’t fit in, and surrounded by people who look at me like an alien sometimes. My heart barely beats anymore. The past few years have dimmed the light even more. Learning the lies that have been whispered behind my back, the constant battles at home, the consistent feeling of unworthiness in most relationships whether they be platonic or not, the upturn of a systematic genocide. Sometimes you shouldn’t know the truth. About the world, the way people feel about you, the lies of your youth. It’s as bad as realizing you were never loved as much as you thought, no assumed. My paint brush touches the canvas but no colors come. Nothing happens. How long can you feign happiness before that alone kills you? How do I find that spark again? I know I’d be gone if that were the plan but the torture of the monotony of waiting is becoming unbearable. Waiting for what? A destiny that is predetermined yet random and unpredictable but also one you can make yourself. Yeah, fate. Karma. Balance. If I had the nerve. Where are my scales of balance and justice? Why do I pick roads and people leading nowhere? Where is my fork in the road with a sign? Actually, that could be the problem. Trying to peer into the future when the present isn’t even determined yet. Chasing a fantasy of a person, a situation, a family that doesn’t exist and can not be obtained by sheer luck. Even hard work doesn’t suffice anymore. If I had the nerve, I’d ask these questions on the other side before my elevator went down and I finally got a chance to kill the devil without consequence. The devil, God? Are they even a factor anymore in the grand understanding of existence and “living”? Are they still whispering in our ears or have they too gone silent in the disgust of what life has become. Watching as the walls crumble and the ground shatters beneath us all. And if that’s the case then I am purely to blame for my life and that makes the failure even drearier. But clearly I don’t have the nerve nor the cowardice to quit. I think that makes me more uneasy than anything. Am I “living to die or dying to live?” am I okay with the mediocrity of everything? From love to friends to life? No. Not at all. This can’t be all there is. The only reason to be is to breathe? I can’t accept that. If I can’t escape, I can’t be silent. If the option is between going crazy slowly or living in my crazy, I’ll take the second. Slowly dying is not an option anymore. The haze of smoke and the waves of inebriation can not suffice. And the never ending questioning of intentions and loyalties will not stand. If the world deems me useless then I have nothing to prove to the world at this point and whatever I do next like before will be my own path. Whether it leads to damnation or glory, mine. I can’t give way to destiny and fate. The arrogant assumption that a path has been destined for me, predetermined, written in gold. Karma is a crap shoot. Good suffers and evil continues to prevail. Maybe it’s not evil, just a sickness that is spreading and for some reason a few go uninfected. With all due respect fuck the grand scheme of things. If life is a lucid dream then anything really is possible. And if selfishness is the new cordiality then it’s about time I took care of me. Why not create anarchy? Why not go forth and disrupt? Everything. Truth will always disturb false complacency. Disturbance is a way to change. I think I want to upset the balance hence forth. What’s the worst that could happen after you’ve lived through hell? Hell of your own making or not is still hell. There are people older than me by decades who are still battling with why. Why? Making it to 50 doesn’t guarantee knowing what you’re doing or where you’re going, so why bother trying to follow some plan that doesn’t exist? Why hold on to fate? I don’t even have a guarantee of an afterlife. Just a here and now. A here and now that can be controlled in one way or another. Whether it be by hook or by crook, there is a way. I know my life is not the worst by far and I am not alone by any means in the way I feel. But why should I keep it to myself? Why not say it out loud or in ink? If there are others who don’t have the nerve, then good for you too. Now figure out why. Let the expression of words and emotions bother people, make them uncomfortable, make them pay attention. Over fucking saturate. If I’m just here, then the world is going to know.