Zephael

my lungs are not failing me. they shouldn't be failing me just yet. i can still breathe, even when i have to do that manually. so please stop hurting just when i thought i can prove that im finally alive. 

to miss someone i wondered who he was in his death bed. i didn't know any better, i was three years old. but now... hearing everything about him, i couldn't help but wanting to talk to him, to ask every question that had been bugging me since i was little, to spend time with him. if only i was smart enough to stay by his side during his last breath, perhaps i would've understood why he asked to hold my infant self in his arms before my mother could request it. he must've foreseen all of the hardships i would face.

the more i look at what this world becomes, the more i can feel my own body and soul deteriorating. it's unsightly.

I am rotting. I am rotting away from both within and from another's view. What am I if I am not rotten? To have a heart full of virtue was a nonsensical passing thought. I was never interested in virtue or saving others. 

perhaps, one day, if i managed to escape everything, i'll find a way to bury myself so i can finally rest in peace.

this will be my only safe place to let everything out, huh? when i die, i suppose this will be the only thing that reminds people that i exist. or perhaps they'll forget about it soon enough. being forgotten wouldnt sound too bad either. ive always wished to be wiped off from everyone's memory, didnt i? this is a cruel joke.

it feels as if my chest is being cut open for my heart to bleed.

i am afraid. i am afraid of what i will become. i am afraid of what i will have to face. i am afraid of what i have to survive. with all that said, living feels undeniably impossible.

i've always considered that the most cruel thing i could've done to someone was to take away their freedom to choose, it shows how my freedom had always been taken away without my will, no?
          
          cruelty really is a joke. a familiar, aching jest. what differences do i have with a corpse, then?

to be understood by one is enough. perhaps that has always been my reason to live.