I suppose this all started years ago. I really don’t know how. Thoughts twisted into sickly parodies of a sane mind. What can you do when all you feel for yourself is hatred? What can you do when all you know is disappointment? I hate existence. Why do we try so hard only to fail because of a roll of the cosmic dice? It’s pointless. No matter what I do I can’t escape from my own anger. Crippling fear and sadness grip hold of me in the night. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what I’m saying. I never know what I’m saying. Sometimes I think that words are like bullets. You can aim them all you like, you won’t always hit your target, and you’re just as likely to be downed by a stray word. Breathe. Spit. Choke. Cry. Tears don’t come easy, they leave me exhausted and in pain. I can sleep when I have reason to wake, but when there’s no purpose I lay in the dark until the sun rises. It’s strange how short the nighttime is, it’s over in a flash. Sleep and rest are not the same, rest is unfulfilling. Anger and fear, the keep me up, and yet I hold them close and dear. My pain is mine, no one else’s. I will keep it if I please. In fact, my emotions are the only thing I have that cannot be taken from me.