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Description
I am different.
I guess.
I hate the word normal.
Hate myself.
I try to ignore it though.
Just, blend in.
Be invisible.

Can't be here.
No. No chance. No choice.
I have anger. sure.
Slice my wrist? Just once?
Just, make it slow..
Don't care.. Just don't--

Don't touch me.
I say, to anything.
Plants, buckets.. I guess it's pathetic really.
Don't.
Don't look at me. Don't touch me.
Don't like me. No.
Hate me. Hate me worse then I hate myself.
I'll kill you.. Just fucking slice my neck. Let me die.

You're funny, aren't you.
Am I?
Pretty? No.
Nice.. Maybe.
Don't care.
Don't want to care.. Just-- so tired..

Every day is a repeat.
Little differences.
I don't hate me.
I'm just bored..
Pain is my friend. Loneliness too.

I break a little just to get close to you.
Close enough to touch. To kiss.
But I am not worth loving.

We're just tired..
Is it okay to be selfish?

Staring at space, I hear gunshots.
Don't want to be here.

~~~~~~

Now, mind you, I try not to think this way.
I try to tell people to accept who they are. No matter what bullshit society comes up with to make us 'normal.'
Fucking brainwash me then. Just leave my broken bloody body by the side of the road.
In my hand you'll find a knife. You'll see many slashes on my body. Incisions.
See, I never got high.. Never did drugs.. At least, no more then I'm supposed to take..
See, I was a coward. When you read my obituary, please make it nice. Say that I was a good guy. With hopes and dreams of becoming something 'great.'
But don't mention my pain. Don't mention how broken I was. Or how easy it was for me to be emotional. To cry.
If someday you do see me, please know that I tried. I tried to be different. To be acceptable.
Call me a hero. If you like. Sure.. 'Hero.' I guess we could say that about him..

He didn't mean to though. To be so broken. Shattered. And boy, he certainly was.
He thought of killing himself. Though he never had the balls to actually do it. He was scared.
He listened to music. Took himself to other worlds. Left this one.

Acceptance. Love.. He tried to live like this. And he was in love. He loved people. He wanted to protect others from harm.
He wanted to erase the pain that others felt. Even though he couldn't. And he knew that. He couldn't protect him. They were friends and he was happy about that.
He was a multiple. He had good parts. And bad parts.
Though he wasn't ever diagnosed.
He felt pain. Even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to feel anything.
He wanted to be numb.
But he wasn't.

He often questioned who he was. He felt he wasn't real. He wasn't really here. His self-worth was so low. But he hid it with a smile. He never talked.
He didn't have many friends. So he went online and found some truly wonderful people. He said, even if it came to where you hate me, I won't ever hate you. I'll love and accept you as you are.
I kind of envy that about him..

He wanted to get high. Get drunk. Forget everything. Be numb for a while. Get out of his body and do some stupid shit. That he'd not remember.
He wondered what was actually real. He had a name. But he felt like that wasn't really who he was.
He knew the world was full of hatred. People judging and criticizing you over what you wear or who you love.
He hated that above all.

He wanted to change it. So that people could be who they were without judgement or prejudice..
He wants his life to mean something. He wants to mean something, to someone.
Truthfully, he thinks his life has no meaning whatsoever.

Negative thinking is really bad..
But, part of him feels this way..
He doesn't think he's good.. Just-- Just leave me alone..
While calling silently for help.
Because he's broken. And the pills don't really help much..

Does his life have value?
Is he worth loving?

He thinks about these things too..
Maybe he will someday..

~End~

Description
I am different.
I guess.
I hate the word normal.
Hate myself.
I try to ignore it though.
Just, blend in.
Be invisible.

Can't be here.
No. No chance. No choice.
I have anger. sure.
Slice my wrist? Just once?
Just, make it slow..
Don't care.. Just don't--

Don't touch me.
I say, to anything.
Plants, buckets.. I guess it's pathetic really.
Don't.
Don't look at me. Don't touch me.
Don't like me. No.
Hate me. Hate me worse then I hate myself.
I'll kill you.. Just fucking slice my neck. Let me die.

You're funny, aren't you.
Am I?
Pretty? No.
Nice.. Maybe.
Don't care.
Don't want to care.. Just-- so tired..

Every day is a repeat.
Little differences.
I don't hate me.
I'm just bored..
Pain is my friend. Loneliness too.

I break a little just to get close to you.
Close enough to touch. To kiss.
But I am not worth loving.

We're just tired..
Is it okay to be selfish?

Staring at space, I hear gunshots.
Don't want to be here.

~~~~~~

Now, mind you, I try not to think this way.
I try to tell people to accept who they are. No matter what bullshit society comes up with to make us 'normal.'
Fucking brainwash me then. Just leave my broken bloody body by the side of the road.
In my hand you'll find a knife. You'll see many slashes on my body. Incisions.
See, I never got high.. Never did drugs.. At least, no more then I'm supposed to take..
See, I was a coward. When you read my obituary, please make it nice. Say that I was a good guy. With hopes and dreams of becoming something 'great.'
But don't mention my pain. Don't mention how broken I was. Or how easy it was for me to be emotional. To cry.
If someday you do see me, please know that I tried. I tried to be different. To be acceptable.
Call me a hero. If you like. Sure.. 'Hero.' I guess we could say that about him..

He didn't mean to though. To be so broken. Shattered. And boy, he certainly was.
He thought of killing himself. Though he never had the balls to actually do it. He was scared.
He listened to music. Took himself to other worlds. Left this one.

Acceptance. Love.. He tried to live like this. And he was in love. He loved people. He wanted to protect others from harm.
He wanted to erase the pain that others felt. Even though he couldn't. And he knew that. He couldn't protect him. They were friends and he was happy about that.
He was a multiple. He had good parts. And bad parts.
Though he wasn't ever diagnosed.
He felt pain. Even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to feel anything.
He wanted to be numb.
But he wasn't.

He often questioned who he was. He felt he wasn't real. He wasn't really here. His self-worth was so low. But he hid it with a smile. He never talked.
He didn't have many friends. So he went online and found some truly wonderful people. He said, even if it came to where you hate me, I won't ever hate you. I'll love and accept you as you are.
I kind of envy that about him..

He wanted to get high. Get drunk. Forget everything. Be numb for a while. Get out of his body and do some stupid shit. That he'd not remember.
He wondered what was actually real. He had a name. But he felt like that wasn't really who he was.
He knew the world was full of hatred. People judging and criticizing you over what you wear or who you love.
He hated that above all.

He wanted to change it. So that people could be who they were without judgement or prejudice..
He wants his life to mean something. He wants to mean something, to someone.
Truthfully, he thinks his life has no meaning whatsoever.

Negative thinking is really bad..
But, part of him feels this way..
He doesn't think he's good.. Just-- Just leave me alone..
While calling silently for help.
Because he's broken. And the pills don't really help much..

Does his life have value?
Is he worth loving?

He thinks about these things too..
Maybe he will someday..

~End~