I always pictured myself as being the centre of attention, just for one single moment. It was a dream. A hope; that one day, people might actually notice me, and not my flaws. Because that's what drags me down. People seem to notice your flaws before they even know the person deep down inside their blood-pumping organ. Everyone is judgemental- everyone. They don't see inside your head, they don't know what's racing through your mind or the images passing by every minute of everyday. They don't know how you feel, what brings you down, what lightens you up, what gets you dancing at 12am..
I guess sometimes you just have to live with what you've got and make the most of it.
Some say life continues on in the aftermath, and that's what I've always wondered. Maybe, just maybe, if the aftermath was true, I'd choose to adventure there. Not here. Hell, this whole planet is a pile of shit and I pity every new born who's brought into this nasty shit stain. You don't want to grow up here, you don't want to see the things people get up to in their 'free' time, and you most certainly do not want to be apart of this fake, non-living generation. This is the generation of young kids getting hammered off of Frosty Jack's in a park at 6pm on a Thursday, more and more harmful substances being created to try and kill off these wicked creatures, teenagers claiming to have some sort of 'mental illness' just because they broke up with their partner after 2 days, when really, the ones who do have a mental illness keep it quiet, to themselves, or a small handful of people who they can fully trust. But who's actually trustworthy anymore? We're the kids of this goddamn hell hole, and we've created the mess that's being publicly exploited into all kinds of twisted tongues and speeches of the unknown. It's hard to find a promise, or the truth in people's words anymore, and it's rather upsetting, especially when you have no one to rely on, no one to talk to, and no one to turn to when you feel like slicing your own throat open, watching the riddled, red liquid that keeps you moving, pour from your tangled, exposed veins. For most kids these days, they rely on suicide, the taking of their own lives to just feel free and to not be judged for who they are anymore, and to be free from the sadness that lies between them and the stars above.
But my time has come. I cannot take this shit any longer. My only desire is to be free from everything and all the sadness locked away in my tiny brain has overloaded with the gallery of suicide. Being free, it looks so beautiful. Like a mother's first sight on her delicate, fragile baby. If only anyone ever looked at me that way, maybe I wouldn't be in this position. But my time is over, I'm done. So very done.
Bullet through my skull, or to tie my body in a dangling state? I grab the gun, trembling as a I reach over from my bed to the drawer, where the weapon is secretly stashed. Loaded, my fingertips slide towards the trigger, and place the direction point towards my solid skull.
10, 9, I've been left behind.
8, 7, I can't take this depression.
6, 5, I want to feel alive.
4, 3, I want to be free.
2, 1, I'm gone.
I'm with the stars now. I'm finally happy.
