Illusive Mind's

Rippled Days

He looked out the window staring at the dimly dark sky. The disquieted boy was very upset troubled about things in his life not being able to use what's capable of himself. There being a quilted girl in his life that made him smile all the time, being the one to be the most awe-inspiring person he has ever met. So dissimilar, so distinctive and exceptional. That's what made that boy ever smile so happy. He looked down and hit the wall gently in distress thinking about her and got rid of the thought of her. He knew he never had a chance so he never stuck to the thought.He opened the door to his room and went back inside. He closed the door and sat down on his bed and picked up his backpack, reasoning if he should do his homework. He looked at his computer monitor. He looked to see if anyone would ever text him, just wondering if he will ever be okay and he just wants to cry slowly and hope no one will watch him. Unfortunately, that's not okay. That's not how life is and that's not how it's supposed to be made and that's not how any boy should cry. It's apathetic to think all is lost for a man and to think that all is lost in his life because he talks to everyone, but no one thinks of him. It's 12 am now and all is lost for him. All he feels is that nothing is drawn and all this blood pumping through him just doesn't deserve to be pumping. That all this pain he feels by being alone can take a while and needs to take peace and time to be happy. That his chronic disorder is just a pain to him and others aren't doing anything. That sometimes people are useless and no one can help him. All he does is text his friends and no one responds. If they do, they just read it and reply. "Fuck!" he panic's reading a message his friend sent him. He overthought again. Over thinking. Just one big thought can really ruin your evening and one bigger reality thought can make you feel like not living anymore. That his ignorance builds up slowly believing that he doesn't need people to be happy and that he can make it himself, then just other days, it's the opposite. Those other days he will be upset and other days he will need friends to pick him up when he needs to. He thinks to himself every day about how much of a loss he is handling. Losing so many friends due to his personality, as if he has multiple personalities and he has no control of himself, just so painful to watch. Just writing stories about himself to friends and people so he can share what pain he feels. Yet, he stops and stares at his text, what he writes. Those others won't agree he has the worst life, just mentally and socially. That no one will agree with him and he believes it's okay because that is the personal reasoning. That all of this reason is just arrogance blinding him, or it's the others misunderstanding that they haven't lived his life. Then he still wonders, how come others can say the same. That how can he convince others that his life is just the worst, he thinks about all the abused children that wanted to die already.  All the suffered people. He doesn't want the world to believe he has it the worst, he wants all that follow his same path to know that he's been through hell so far and so edge. He gets up and walks to the door, opening it and walking down the hallway to the fridge. He opens the fridge to get a sandwich that has been left there since this morning, he judges it from how fresh it looks. He gets it and jogs back to the other door leading to the backyard, and walks down to the basement, taking another left and walking to the microwave. He warms it up and lays back on the wall. He sighs and thinks about how lonely he is. How a girl could really make him happy. How can love really help him... /12/9/16 ~