The Mind Of A Broken Soul

28 April XxxX

There is a problem...
My parents thought I hated myself. Strangers thought I loved myself.

Reality
I can't love myself,
Nor,
I can't hate myself.

I can only sympthize.
Feel sorry,
Feel guilty,
Feel pain.
But.
Sympthize doesn't mean I will hurt myself.
I'll try to fix myself.
Sympthize may not help me long.
But,
Its enough to keep me a little sane.
Before I lose it.

If this body has no use on me,
Who knows it has use on others.
Its just limbs.
Someone might need it.
If they want it.
I'll give them.

I won't regret what I gave.
Even if its my joy.
Take it.
I won't use it.
Not anymore.

It hurts as I'm using it.
I wished so many things,
Yet I earned less of it.

Funny, is it not?
So many things I asked,
Was only about my death.

Ironic, is it?
When just a child,
I wanted to earn everyone else's pain.
No more suffer for them.

I shall be the sacrifice.
The outcast.
The devil itself.