Why are we all here? Why do the things we hold dear... So different?
I don’t know. Should I? I’m told I’m very cold. Am I?
They say they’re trying to help me. But the pain I go through makes it seem like they’re lying... What should do? Who should I listen to? The voices...they tell me I don’t deserve happiness.
That there’s no sleep for the wicked. But have I been wicked? What have I done to deserve this? Nothing...nothing...nothing.
I’m so tired. But I can’t sleep. I want some help. But there’s no one.
I can scream, shout, yell. But nothing I say can tell. The unspeakable pain. Of this game.
There is no help There is no hope There is no resolution Only the unstated urge to end this.
....I guess writing does help a little.












