After it all comes pouring down.

III. Blunt feel

My parents, or anybody else actually, don't know why I spend so much time on my phone.
I help other people.
I read to escape.
I talk to build.

I'm aware many of my friends have problems. Problems with relationships, pandemic, or self-esteem.

I try to advise and help people through my phone, so they can feel better; so I can provide help, help that I was negated when I was feeling helpless and scared and alone. It's not easy.

It's not easy but I do it for them

I tend to read a lot. Fiction helps me escape from reality. My creation is huge. Bigger than it should be.
I tend to get very creative sometimes, daydreaming of impossible things. Too creative actually.

That's my ticket. My ladder. My train. My pill. My only route.
I have little, to no dreams, at this point.

I fell out of love; I can see the past and present, but there's no future; I'm confused, tired, and wasted; a noose is pricking at the end of my mind.

It's there.

It's so close.

But so far, somehow.

Pain terrifies me. Guilt makes me trip. Desolation is my only company. I provide help, but, who will aid me?
My hopes are unclear. I don't see anyone in my life.

Who would want this?
Who would want this disgusting monster?
This lady, this Miss, this girl out of her mind?
Who would?

I don't know.

Where?
Where are you?

Don't you love me?

Then show yourself.
I'm tired.
I can't do this for much longer.

It's so hard.

It's cold. But too hot.

No motivation, no reason to get out of bed.
Other than guilt.