melancholia ✔︎

dying inside

When will people realise that words can cut as sharply as any blade, and that those cuts leave scars upon our souls?

Never.

The prettiest smiles hide the deepest secrets, the prettiest eyes have cried the most tears, and the kindest hearts have felt the most pain.

Maybe I can't always plaster a smile on my face. Maybe my eyes have grown hollow and empty. But that's just the outside. There's me inside too. A me inside people don't remember, the me that people forget, the me that just lies neglected. Maybe my heart is slowly ceasing to beat.

I'm hurting.

I can't really stand it any longer. I'm dying inside. Dying inside. On the outside, I may be there, in whole human form, in every piece of me... But the inside? It's not the same. I've lost everything inside, every part of me.

It hurts, and it's like a pain that can't be stopped, a pain that can never be stopped, an ongoing pain of depression.

And slowly, I feel like on the outside, I'm disintegrating too. Disintegrating slowly into nothing, just not visible at all. That's why no one knows, that no one can save me.

Maybe I was just a snowflake, another falling delicate beauty from the sky itself. And one day, the snowflake has to fall. One day, the snowflake needs to fall to the ground and disappear, get swallowed whole by the impact and the world.

I'm sick of the pain. The pain that never stops. The pain that never really ends. Ever. Constant, all the time, 24/7. Sick of pretty much everything.

Maybe dying would be the easiest way to end it all. End every little string barely keeping me alive, by the single snip of the scissors. I'm that close. Who would care anyway?

The answer, would be no one.

No one at all.

Not anyone.

I guess I wouldn't even really care, to be completely and utterly honest with you. I just don't care anymore.

I. Don't. Care. Anymore.