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Description
I don't know what I am.
How do I know that I'm me?
What proof can you show me that will make me see that I am me?
I don't know.
I'm emotional again. Fuck
I hate it.. Wearing my heart on my sleeve, so to speak.
I just don't see the point of it...

Though I suppose, it's expected?
Act a certain way. Live life a certain way.
We are not allowed to be true to ourselves.
Though it depends on the self you're referring to.

Josh is..Trying.
Very tired, but trying. He doesn't want to. But he is.
And, eventually, I will get over this, and go back to the cheery self.
Who's all 'I love you.'

It's pathetic really.
Wanting so quickly to deny the right to be emotional.
Along with all our other rights that you've taken away from us.
The right to live. The right to breathe.
Instead, we're just lying.

And we lie because we have to.
We want to be 'safe.' And 'free.'
But freedom is bought on the blood of those who die so we can live.
Almost like god, in a way. If there is such a thing.

People are hypocrites.
But Josh is no different.
He's not special. He's not beautiful.
And he doesn't want to hear you say that.
It hurts. You don't realize it, but it hurts to hear that.

We're tired of hurting.
He was actually, if he had a knife at the moment, going to slash his wrist.
Quick. Painful. Release. Relief..
That's what it's about.

But still, blood flows through these veins.
His blood.
I suppose.

Who is he?
And who am I?

We just don't know..

~End~

Sweating a little... — Description
I don't know what I am.
How do I know that I'm me?
What proof can you show me that will make me see that I am me?
I don't know.
I'm emotional again. Fuck
I hate it.. Wearing my heart on my sleeve, so to speak.
I just don't see the point of it...

Though I suppose, it's expected?
Act a certain way. Live life a certain way.
We are not allowed to be true to ourselves.
Though it depends on the self you're referring to.

Josh is..Trying.
Very tired, but trying. He doesn't want to. But he is.
And, eventually, I will get over this, and go back to the cheery self.
Who's all 'I love you.'

It's pathetic really.
Wanting so quickly to deny the right to be emotional.
Along with all our other rights that you've taken away from us.
The right to live. The right to breathe.
Instead, we're just lying.

And we lie because we have to.
We want to be 'safe.' And 'free.'
But freedom is bought on the blood of those who die so we can live.
Almost like god, in a way. If there is such a thing.

People are hypocrites.
But Josh is no different.
He's not special. He's not beautiful.
And he doesn't want to hear you say that.
It hurts. You don't realize it, but it hurts to hear that.

We're tired of hurting.
He was actually, if he had a knife at the moment, going to slash his wrist.
Quick. Painful. Release. Relief..
That's what it's about.

But still, blood flows through these veins.
His blood.
I suppose.

Who is he?
And who am I?

We just don't know..

~End~