Too afraid to live, but fearful of death. I refuse to see it, but the truth has spoken for itself. My feet chained by the stronghold that are my fear and complacency, my mind consumed by the war of strongly opinionated, very diverse voices. A scream longs to reach out from my lungs but then the idea of seeking refuge in an asylum never did seem quite appealing. So, whatever that needed mending was tucked away neatly in a compartment, far from sight. It was easier to appear ignorant than to explain something that even I myself could not understand.
Excuses, excuses, excuses. The poison we're addicted to when we're so weak. I don't feel very alive, but I don't want to die either. So I make these excuses just to get by, and the ones who bear the cost are the very ones whom I owe my whole life to.
When will I ever change? I know all this in my mind, but I can't bring myself to act on it. Why?
Weak, selfish lowlife. Am I ill in my head, or just plain stupid?
I'm going to be left behind. You won't say it, but I know. And it's okay. You're a beautiful, intelligent creature that the world should come to know and revere. Just don't ever come back, I never want you to see me like this. At least let me die with some quiet dignity.
