darren
(massive tw underneath the cut, y'all already know what it's about, self-deletion and reckless actions)
happy note
you really thought that you had a chance, don't you?
you really were foolish enough to believe that people would actually appreciate what you do.
accept it.
you're nothing.
...
you're nothing like those artists that are able to create and shape their art with a mere swipe of their hands.
you're nothing like those writers that have the capacity to create deep, complex and lively worlds.
you're nothing like those expert programmers that are able to code several algorithms without breaking a sweat.
you're nothing like those competent friends that are able to keep entire friend groups by their side.
lackadaisy may have awoken your inner historian after a long time of inactivity, but...
nobody cares.
...
nobody cares that you have a certain curiosity about the 1920s, how the Prohibition era progressed, how the technology started to evolve.
nobody cares that you have several OCs for different worlds, ready to be puppeteered by you to delve into those worlds.
nobody cares about a pathetic, pitiful attempt and failure of an artist, which you are.
nobody cares about your art progression or delivering proper art feedback.
nobody is happy that you're breathing, that you are alive.
nobody is sad because of your depressive lows, persistent misery.
nobody will comfort you when you feel like your mind is actively crushing you and feel how everything is worthless.
nobody is concerned about the thoughts you have of putting the barrel in your mouth, and pull the trigger.
nobody is worried that you think of slashing your neck with one single swipe of a knife to bleed out.
nobody will notice that you've hanged yourself, choking yourself to death instead of breaking your neck.
nobody will miss you once you stop breathing and become an inanimate corpse.
...
you've had enough of getting false hope, of being spoon-fed that "everything will be fine", when it's not true.
you've had enough of seeing people getting recognition, yet you only get scraps of it.
you've had enough of being a joke and embarrassment of an artist, regardless of the efforts you do.
you've had enough of being a terrible friend and a terrible person overall.
you've had enough of everything, of everyone.
you know perfectly well that people will only appreciate you more dead than alive, because life is that horrible.
...
death beckons.
the end promises.
self worth in the negatives.
the void awaiting eagerly.
but in the end...
your pleas won't be answered.
why do you still persist? is it cowardice? or maybe...
something else?