"The social concept of me feels mistaken and oddly misplaced, I can't feel without the longing familiarity of Death. My corpse rots inside a forbidden meat like suit, it craves that belonging.

My life is gone, yet my body speaks for itself. I'll go silent like they tell me too, my soul leaving the conversation while my body remains. I was never truly born, not at all, I'm a concept created by the instincts of a animal. I am a animal, one who lies like a fox, and one to claws like a cat. I feel my walls breathe and echo my sobs of horror stories i once lived. I feel heavenly knowing my purpose, to die. I need to die and rot amongst the soil. To look down from the tree, or to look at the bloodied bath would feel angelic.

I'm not new to failure, but this purpose, I'll succeed. I'm so done. I am so done with the shell of a human i am, I wish to be one with my struggles...is that so hard? God how I hate how they laugh at my suffering, yet my upbringing feels lost.

I never understood myself, all i can do is blame my wrongs, never able to choose my rights. I choose laughter instead of tears... I cave in, I'm a total fuck up. Maybe I should've never been born, Maybe my friends wouldn't hate me."