Theres no easy way to say this, but I am a broken person.
At the drop of a pen, I fall apart again and again.
In an instant i contemplate the worthiness of my self towards life.
Its almost like my life is following a written prophecy,
That entails pain, sorrow, heartbreak, and misery in a never ending loop.
I am dearly sorry for those who love me and feel differently.
I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of searching for a reason to exist.
A reason to be happy.
I cannot exhaust myself maintaining relationships, it's never been for me. The death of my mother will change me.
The loss of myself will leave me broken and weak on a cold floor. "It would be better for everyone involved if i never existed at all." I tell myself on a sad afternoon.
Its hurts so much because I truly believe it.
Such talent wasted on such a disappointment.
The talent of art, writing, creativity.
A soul discriminately corrupted by the pain in this world.
I fall apart again and again. At the drop of a pen.
Not that I'm dramatic. But because everything truly hurts me that badly.