So I sit, and wonder, why I'm so consumed , within fears that are inevitable and yet some never possible.
The fear of something so strong yet I crave. The sleepless nights of abysmal dreams. Locked within the lines of choices I may not choose myself.
Only the unconscious mind would choose the result I despise.
Yet so very crave.
Is this the death or could it be the start for a young but broken heart.
Will I be more beautiful in death? Will I then be urned for ? , will the need for my presents, take over like the deathly bite from an acrimonious vampire ?.
Will any grief strike and tear their heartless pathetic souls?
Shatter their dreams to the depth of MY misery.
I have become so selfish! So worthless and most of all silent.
Silent addiction, silent fear, silent screams! .
Everything so dam silent apart from this pain.
Pain that screams louder than the sirens of ww2 ! Everyone running for the fear of their life, saving their beloved children, holding each other for the fear of dieing alone.
(Hello? Is anybody their? Oh! Nope?
Ill return within myself .. I will let people think I feel sorry for myself as the people that do notice assume I'm pathetic!)
Here I am dieing alone , like a lost man in a desert and flying over head, vultures ready to feed on my misery.
Seems I'm so scared of death but Yet I survive on the dark side, I yurn for death of my soul but to afraid to see my fait, well, everyone's fait.
I have seen so much death it's apart of everyday. That scared frozen feeling you have when their is a dead body next to you. How it smells of things you could never describe. But only when you smell it you KNOW ! .
To be faced with your own mortality sends you into a different world. Nothing glamorous nothing happy nothing normal ( what ever normal is )
Nothing you do in that world is mortal, understandable, nor could you ever comprehend the immortal scene of death.
Yet here I am pages on still describing how death is so attractive, so wonderful and painless.
Why? , maybe for me and many others its the only say only escape, maybe not selfish, because we don't have people that would care or cannot see what is our borderline personality world.
Maybe we are being told in our dreams or in our wake. Maybe we feel death so much and often nothing is "normal" to us other than to join the very thing we fear. Or maybe or depression says DO IT!!!! And. When we feel hyper mania ywe know some how the world was a better place with us an our crazy irrational ideas.
As I now come to the end of a depressive short story/diary I want to know how different or the same we are. I want to know your thoughts on death, suicide, low self worth. I would like to know if our whole society is just completely fucked.
Wrote by anna Maddison wylde
