Death, it's something I've been eager to achieve, probably before I was even born. Us, me and death have met on countless occasions, expected and unexpected. The most profound meeting that I can recall most of its parts was the last one. Maybe because it was the only one that happened without any planning or precaution. Or because it has occurred in a phase when I wanted to remain alive so badly. That happened and damaged me for life instead of taking it away. Death loves to tease me.
I wanted to stay alive, I still do actually. But I'm still looking for a reason. It feels like all the reasons for a human to live were demolished before my eyes. I'm not going to deceive myself and say that I'm strong and I can make it. No, I'm not. I've no strength left. Actually, I'm a dead creature that manages to breathe and move. Nothing excites me any longer, food has no taste in my mouth, I laugh but I'm not slightly happy. I'm getting colder than death and I'm horrendously terrified at the thought that I will eventually lose everything that's left.
People who claim to be cold-blooded, I doubt they actually know what being a real cold-blooded means. Not getting enraged is not what being cold-blooded all about. I sometimes scream and shout my lungs out because I want to make sure I haven't lost everything that makes me a human being or just to feel my existence. I scream when I'm not certain if I'm dead or still alive.
Perhaps the only things that make me feel my existence are my sorrow and this exquisite pain in my chest, the pain of longing so much for you.
I wanted to stay alive, I still do actually. But I'm still looking for a reason. It feels like all the reasons for a human to live were demolished before my eyes. I'm not going to deceive myself and say that I'm strong and I can make it. No, I'm not. I've no strength left. Actually, I'm a dead creature that manages to breathe and move. Nothing excites me any longer, food has no taste in my mouth, I laugh but I'm not slightly happy. I'm getting colder than death and I'm horrendously terrified at the thought that I will eventually lose everything that's left.
People who claim to be cold-blooded, I doubt they actually know what being a real cold-blooded means. Not getting enraged is not what being cold-blooded all about. I sometimes scream and shout my lungs out because I want to make sure I haven't lost everything that makes me a human being or just to feel my existence. I scream when I'm not certain if I'm dead or still alive.
Perhaps the only things that make me feel my existence are my sorrow and this exquisite pain in my chest, the pain of longing so much for you.
