Alone.
There's no feeling quite like it.
The one where you could jump off a cliff and the room would only echo with a "Oh".
Not because you jumped, their pencil fell.
Oh yea, didn't I mention?
The talking.
The endless amount of talks you have with yourself, debating if you should do 'it'.
As if everything isn't fucked up enough.
But didn't you wonder?
If you are truly, utterly, completely alone, who do you tell?
Dilemma.
Now your talks with yourself get longer and longer.
You're positive you're on the brink of insanity, if you haven't passed the point of no return already.
It kinda gradually gets worse.
Like a slow painful death.
It sorta is.
Cause it's not you dying.
It's your soul.
But you follow suit later on anyways.
So it is slow.
And excruciatingly lonely.
There's nothing quite like the words from someone who knows when exactly they are going to die.
And we usually make an effort in our last days, one final check to see if we should hold on.
These, like us, are failures.
So we go about our days, finally decided on what we're going to do.
Then one day you disappear into your room, weapon in hand, and you don't come back.
That's how people die.
Loneliness.
