If you were to walk into my skin, you would feel my pain; you would feel my shame, my anguish.
So many emotions, a fatal overdose. This feels unbearable, I have to do something about it . All these emotions, anger, agony, sadness, pain, indignation. This is torture.
Judgement is reality, people escape or I should say avoid the things that oppose a problem, I decided not to, I decided to face reality face to face, and people run away from reality because they're afraid it's too much to handle, and sometimes they're right.
Am I going insane? Am I going crazy? Am I going to be mentally ill?
I can't even tell ally from foe, I'm so ineffective. I'm so weak.
The anguish is consuming me from the inside, I know one thing for sure, is that I can't kill myself now, I have to keep on going, I have to survive, I have to win, but at what cost?
I'm blind, and every time I get to see, every time I break a wall there's another one waiting behind it, I don't know who I am anymore.
I could tell you with certainty that I would blow my head off at any given opportunity, if I didn't have such clinginess, why am I holding on so tightly, why couldn't I slit my throat, why?
Am I that weak? Why can't I cry? Why can't I stop crying? Am I depressed? Or am I just asking for attention? Why can't I distinct love from lust? Why can't I just fucking die already?
I fucking hate myself, but no one fucking cares, why am I the only one noticing people's pain.
Wanna hear a joke? My fucking life. I'm not real, I don't exist to others, and neither do it to myself.
I have nothing holding me back, so why can't just kill myself already?
Why can't I do it?
YOU ARE READING
Experimental Philosophical Psychology .
Poetry-Warning, this story contains a very vile and variable vocabulary, and a violent language, please do not take any offense to this content this is simply my opinion and my point of view, this story contains various suicide and self harm references...
