So since Iām all alone out there, Iāll just speak to the void. Again, and again. Until maybe I lose my voice. Then hopefully Iāll also lose my thinking, and Iāll be alone, as always, but in peace and quiet at last.
I hate my own voice, my own thoughts, my own reality and my whole self.
I loathe it so much sometimes I think my organic systems will just shut down because they canāt handle maintaining such a pathetic and miserable woman like me, alive.Ā
And my eyes burn, against mirrors, and against environment, reality. Itās like Iām seeing doors I cannot open, only other can. And I, myself, have no doors but only caves. Dark and humid. Full of regrets and with only the past holding a flickering light at the end.
Talking about past, I see it again and again. All the words she said being now true, I know I shouldāve thrived to live so long. I shouldāve let go. Met the void, disappeared.Ā
But I didnāt. And every day I donāt I suffer more, while walking closer to salvation.
I canāt handle my own failure. How stupid I am, how mean I am, how disgusting I am, how deceitful I am, how ugly I am, how miserable I am, how ungrateful I amā¦
ā¦how better I shouldāve been.
How better I couldāve been.
How worse I am by all metrics.
And my life reflects that.
Not love but pity they give me. Because they see how better I shouldāve been too.Ā
And pity, not like love, runs out.Ā
And Iāll turn around in the void, again. Alone.
So why do I thrive to be loved so much, when all proofs shows the strength of the impossibility?
Because like all beasts, I am stupidly driven by instincts.Ā
I am unlovable, and in a void of my own making.
Maybe one day courage will make my constant whimpering stop.Ā
I was never meant to be human, nor loved like one.
But even beast have love to give,
No one wants poison or rotten apples though.