I'm falling apart inside and out.
Is this how it really ends?
I'm bitter and cold and hungry.
I don't dream anymore, I don't hope or want anything.
I don't think I want to be saved this time around, And theres no one who could anyway.
And I can't even tell you, your kinda all I have now. You've been busy, I really have no right to burden you.
You've been good to me, considering. And it could be worse. I understand your problems are bigger then mine.
I know you want to get beter and I would to, If I could see the light.
I wish I could make it go away. You would say I make this myself. Perhaps it is true but I can't stop it now.
I can't just 'be happy'. I'm failing, I'm trying, but it isent working. I'm so sorry. I wish I could cure myself.
I'm gonna go out with a bang, or maybe climb a skyscraper just to 'see the view'. either way I'm going to save
all the help and engery to be used on someone that matters.
I don't even know why I'm typing this here, maybe I know you'll read it. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
I guess I'll be saying I'm ok right up until I do it. I mean really. Not the attempt when I was 12,
I guess my imagination didn't want me. Not when I was 16, no he came and took me from that. Then twisted me to
what I am now. Broke me down and made me sick. And then the string of men that were just like him, one after the
other. It took an innocence from me. A hope. I don't hope now.I don't believe that love will save me.
I don't believe there is a better life, . . . this is it.
I am meant to be alone.
And I will tick like a machine. I will rise, work, try to sleep, til one day I'll just stop. My gears will stick
and I won't move. Then I think it will be time at last. Why try to rush it? that's where I went wrong at 12 and
16. All one has to do is wait. It will be time soon enough. Then there will be no reason to stop. Nothing to pull
me back. No ambulances or men of god shouting my name. I can do it boldly. (or will it be more of a surrender?)
No matter... It will be the time for it, the right time. And that is what makes this world stick together,
Not just time but the correct time.
And I will leave nothing but a few pretty photographs.
And they'll remember me for being a good worker for a couple years. No children. No great memories.
A handful of relatives to shed the compulsionary tear or two at my grave.
I unmark the world but I will not leave it. Not until it tells me to make my exit.
And I'll make my steps in the dance, and say the lines that are scripted to me,
and without bow or accolade walk off into darkness.