Food for Maggots

I am not okay, I don't think I am going to be okay, I am just not happy. Smiling feels like a lie, laughing just makes the tears come out in a more acceptable format. I hate my life, I hate the world. I am tired.

The boredom is driving me insane, I don't think I fit in anywhere, and I don't feel like I belong anywhere, there are times when I just can't function or try to pretend that everything around me is okay. All these insane people trying to label everyone else crazy or insane, it makes me sick.

The sheer insanity of boredom, loneliness, isolation and sin is enough to weigh heavily down upon anyone that isn't strong enough to bare it. I can bare it, but it's a burden that i did not ask for and a gift i can't use. Being aware of everything around you is like being trapped in groundhog's day but each day gets a little bit more demented than the day before. Things that should make you happy, or make you okay only serve as constant reminders of your inability to control anything around you, that this world is run by something that is so alien and different from you that if it can't make you just like it, it will seek to destroy you.

I'm going to keep fighting but I am getting very tired and worse yet I am getting weaker. This is a battle we all fight, and fight it alone we must, the warriors standing around you on the battlefield are also fighting demons that only they can see. How long is it before we become a demon to fight for the next person. We get inside of each other too deeply and then we retreat and withdraw when the other says or does something we don't like, how many times can a heart heal from betrayal, from the vicious cycle of abuse, from the torture of love and hate, from stress too great for one soul to bare?

My heart hangs like a small, withered, dying thing beating in my chest, weakly like the last few flutters of a butterflies wings before it passes on to the next plane. My blood flowing thick and polluted through my veins like sewage untreated yet slowly being added to over and over again. The cleaning system broken and infested with living things whose only thought in life is to reproduce and feed. The decaying flesh they feed upon is me and I lack the will to heal and be clean and new and fresh.

Tomorrow will be another day and i'll wake up and I'll feel better or I won't, and i'll find some small pleasure in a book on some dusty shelf that has been long neglected. I'll remember that somewhere in my soul it knows that I am the daughter of a King, and that I live in his kingdom, and I suffer by choice and not by birth alone.

I'll remember,

I'll remember to breath.

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