𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚊 ✔

𝙻𝙸𝚂𝙰

"Once I knew a girl who had eyes, that used to make every person stop and tell her, how beautiful her eyes were.

But as she grew, she splitted up from everybody and stopped talking. And eating. And caring.

And now we are strangers to each other. I haven't seen her for six years. I only see her face in the reflection of the mirror, but I don't know her.

We understand that our world is dispicable, when we talk about it. Democracy is gone. There is only kingdom. Kingdom of power, binge and sex. People are so dirty... Bones of our ancestries are hundred times cleaner than us.

We call this place hell, but I know that there are places worse than hell.

Home, for example.

I should explain.

Lots of stories start like mine - with a murder. A murder of poor girl, called Lisa Hallows. She was killed on October 17th. Her lifeless body is in my mind now. A weapon, that she was killed with, were her father's fists, that kept beating her with no mercy.

She was only eleven years old back then... Too young...

I want to disappear, to go somewhere, where I want to be, somewhere, where I belong. But there's no place for a girl, who died six years ago.

No one needs me.

No one likes me.

Like... Heavy word, isn't it?

People often don't like someone until they get to know that person. No one realizes, that such behavior could lead to death in motel's room.

No one cares. Everything is just fun and games. All those 'She looks like a slut' and 'Don't talk to him, he's weird' add up to one. Every negative word is like a slap with poison.

Sometimes people don't even realize, that they are doing that. They don't even imagine, that their sharp word they have spat to someone's face, is the reason why that person is holding a gun against their skull.

They don't realize that depression isn't just coffe drinking, it isn't just cigarette's holding between trembling fingers, it isn't staying up all night and writing poems, it isn't sleep in cold winter mornings, and it definitely is not a library, where you meet your love, who glues your shattered heart pieces.

Depression is staying in your bed for four days in a row. It is greasy hair, because you haven't showered in week. It's tear stains on your pillow and a dirty room, because even thinking about cleaning it makes you more upset.

It's not always pills that are gulped down with whiskey and vein cutting.

Sometimes it's just a road crossing without paying attention. Sometimes it's forgetting to buckle your seatbelt. Sometimes it's staying up all night, because you don't want tommorow to come...

I am sorry for my confusing language.

I think it's for people, who are going through the same shit: if you can't take it, don't even try.

Rough? Too bad. It's not a happy story.

If you feel too much pressure on your shoulders, just stop. Stop and take a step back. Look at what you're doing.

Is it worth of suffering?

Take steps back until you know the answer.

Maybe it's jumping from the bridge.

Maybe it's a brand new start.

Maybe it's few more steps back. Maybe it's some more time.

It's your life. Don't let rumors to touch it. Don't let people tell you, what choice is the best.

Maybe it's death, maybe it's life."

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"Do you remember the girl, who used to sit in the back seat of the class? The girl, who isn't here anymore?"

This girl no longer exists.