People who once meant the world to me are nothing but strangers now. Home is a strange place.
As the voices in my head get louder and louder all I wish for is a moment of silence. Maybe a second. Maybe a minute. Maybe forever.
Donot blame yourselves for all you've done is be good people. I blame myself for letting the demon take control over me.
I'm sorry for being so weak. I'm sorry for being such a coward. I'm sorry for being confused about wether it's persistence or strength that is required for existence.
Writing is the only thing that's keeping me alive. How shall I live after you took away my pen that night?
