Klonoa
Well-known member
(This IS NOT a thread about suicide, kthx.)
*sigh*
WHERE to begin...?
What's the point anymore?
What's the point of living? If, by the time the sun rises over the heals and sand starts to heat up, I'll once more be not a slave of daily life only, a prisioner inside my own home... Prisioners under the fist of bandits who keeps us all in fear...
What's the point of dying? Why suicide? Aren't we dead already?
We are dead inside?
We are the dead?
My depression is getting worse, I can't keep my cheerful façade up as easly as I could before, I feel empty, I feel lonely...
I feel I'll simply die old and alone, and nobody will give a damn.
Hey, anyone sees black-and-white movies? Remember how idealistic love seemed?
Do you remember love?
Who'da think reality would punch me in the face and get left or cheated on several, several times.
Good guy finishes last? I think so. Or maybe never at all.
What does the world expects me to be? "Never change", they say.
But what I am, is not what anyone or everyone is looking for. I'm just... there.
This depression is killing me further.
I sleep, but not rest.
I wake up in the dark of the night, I cant help it but hold my pillow and shed a few quick silent tears, feeling my own self-inflicted misery stabbing me. In the chest. Like a pointy icicle.
I can't talk to anyone close about my problems, I only get judged, I should simply suck it up, obsessing, or other accusations.
I feel misery, I feel envy, I feel sheer, unaltered rage.
I want to scream, I want to punch something...
... I want a hug...
...
I guess all I can afford is one of these:
Good enough, I guess.
*sigh*
WHERE to begin...?
What's the point anymore?
What's the point of living? If, by the time the sun rises over the heals and sand starts to heat up, I'll once more be not a slave of daily life only, a prisioner inside my own home... Prisioners under the fist of bandits who keeps us all in fear...
What's the point of dying? Why suicide? Aren't we dead already?
We are dead inside?
We are the dead?
My depression is getting worse, I can't keep my cheerful façade up as easly as I could before, I feel empty, I feel lonely...
I feel I'll simply die old and alone, and nobody will give a damn.
Hey, anyone sees black-and-white movies? Remember how idealistic love seemed?
Do you remember love?
Who'da think reality would punch me in the face and get left or cheated on several, several times.
Good guy finishes last? I think so. Or maybe never at all.
What does the world expects me to be? "Never change", they say.
But what I am, is not what anyone or everyone is looking for. I'm just... there.
This depression is killing me further.
I sleep, but not rest.
I wake up in the dark of the night, I cant help it but hold my pillow and shed a few quick silent tears, feeling my own self-inflicted misery stabbing me. In the chest. Like a pointy icicle.
I can't talk to anyone close about my problems, I only get judged, I should simply suck it up, obsessing, or other accusations.
I feel misery, I feel envy, I feel sheer, unaltered rage.
I want to scream, I want to punch something...
... I want a hug...
...
I guess all I can afford is one of these:

Good enough, I guess.