Alone in the dark, I hear your footsteps.
Where is it?
That eternal flaw that has begun to marr the surface of myself?
I have begun to slip from my anchor, in truth I was always too proud, I did not succumb to trivial teenage strife, it was not neccessary for me to dull my senses to live my life.
But I am slipping, all my fine morals are shrinking from the black bliss of the future.
Soon I will be responsible for only myself, an individual for which I hold little respect.
I wont have to protect anybody, life, as it is, will continue without me and I will be free.
And in my freedom I will finally see myself clearly without the glass of family, and I will die.
It has begun, I am systematically tearing into unremarkable pieces and my plunges into depression are becoming more and more frequent, my self-hatred is regrouping and I am losing the power to resist.
In fact my fear is only the last vestiges of rationality, I want to embrace the darkess and become lost in it, I want the loathing to grip my throat again, to sink into the sewage of human existance.
It is almost destiny.
I wish to finally release my contempt upon the world, instead of looking carefully for the brightside, I'm tired of trying to do the right thing, to mend things.
When I was young I breathed contempt and rage, it was complete selfish self-loathing, and through the fog, one day, the climactic day, I saw what I was doing to my sister, so small and frail then, and I fixed myself, I hid my feelings buring them as deep as they would go, feingned happiness and slowly, surely brought myself to this point of bland contentment in which I know rest.
All in vain, that creature that I left behind hadn't died, but fell asleep, I can feel it waking and I want it to.
I will fall and it will be the truth.
That eternal flaw that has begun to marr the surface of myself?
I have begun to slip from my anchor, in truth I was always too proud, I did not succumb to trivial teenage strife, it was not neccessary for me to dull my senses to live my life.
But I am slipping, all my fine morals are shrinking from the black bliss of the future.
Soon I will be responsible for only myself, an individual for which I hold little respect.
I wont have to protect anybody, life, as it is, will continue without me and I will be free.
And in my freedom I will finally see myself clearly without the glass of family, and I will die.
It has begun, I am systematically tearing into unremarkable pieces and my plunges into depression are becoming more and more frequent, my self-hatred is regrouping and I am losing the power to resist.
In fact my fear is only the last vestiges of rationality, I want to embrace the darkess and become lost in it, I want the loathing to grip my throat again, to sink into the sewage of human existance.
It is almost destiny.
I wish to finally release my contempt upon the world, instead of looking carefully for the brightside, I'm tired of trying to do the right thing, to mend things.
When I was young I breathed contempt and rage, it was complete selfish self-loathing, and through the fog, one day, the climactic day, I saw what I was doing to my sister, so small and frail then, and I fixed myself, I hid my feelings buring them as deep as they would go, feingned happiness and slowly, surely brought myself to this point of bland contentment in which I know rest.
All in vain, that creature that I left behind hadn't died, but fell asleep, I can feel it waking and I want it to.
I will fall and it will be the truth.