No one notices at all, that your suffering all the time. Everything is just fun and jokes- they don't see that shade of world that you're always in. The don't understand when you need to be away. You're just an attention whore to them. Of course, in their eyes, because you always get the attention. Apparently.
They don't understand. They can never understand anyway, with their perfect lives and perfect feelings. How I envy that so much. How I wish I could view the world in a much more simplistic way, like them.
Sometimes I wished that knife pressed against the front of my neck would just cut already. Maybe i'll cry from the pain, I deserved it. I was expecting it anyway, maybe even begging for it. I'll bleed to death and feel my body turn cold.. It sounds like a paradise, really. My suffering can stop and no one will notice. This is the ideal perfect life.
Thank you for never being there for me. Thank you for dismissing me off as an extra nuisance. Thank you for never giving two shits about me, because it will feel great knowing that no one will care when i'm gone.
My regret message. Do I really have to make one? Well I regret a lot of things in life. But i'm sorry for being a burden, sorry for not being your perfect child... am i sorry? It depends on you if you're willing to forgive me. But I wont hear your reply anyway because i'll be bleeding out my final moments. How tempting..
If I think back to those times, I never stopped hurting inside. Words can cut deeper than the blade cutting into your throat. But both are similar in a way, both leave you unable to speak afterwards and the words you want to say burn inside your throat.
But I kept it all in you know. How many times do I have to cry before I get stronger. That's the saying right? I helped you, I helped others. But I never got anything in return, and I admit. It stung a lot. It stung more than the times I fell, trying to keep you from leaving me.
I was abandoned, and I never came back to reality. I kept getting lost in the dreams and living my perfect simulation. Every morning, when I returned to myself I cried.
Another painful day to come.
Another day to run.
