Living is difficult...

Tired of life.

I'm trying to keep a calm demeanor. I keep telling myself I am ok.

When I talk to someone, I pretend everything is fine. If I don't, they get mad.

I'm angry, frustrated, sad and insecure. It wells up inside of me with no time to evaluate which makes me want to scream and cry.

I look outside to see the most disgusting way of life...I look at the mirror and see the worst piece of life created.

My breathing is unnatural. I cannot seem to time it right, I need to remember to inhale.

Van Gogh, you killed yourself like so many others in this world. I wish I knew why each and every single person did it. Leaving a note doesn't mean I will understand you.

People don't reach out anymore. They are stuck in their bubbles...keeping away from each other as though they are scared you will find out something evil about them.

The truth is, we are people living in hell. This is our hell we have created.

I'm in hell.

If I touch you, you may burn and become ash. Or maybe you will actually love me...

like you fucken used to.

Instead, I touch you and neither one occurs. You just...don't react.

Like I never did anything.

But you react to so many other things, that can't talk to you. That can't feel.

This is an individual society. I am an individual, but my survival is up to the society.

This world is hell, where ever I go after....only the birds will know.

They are free...and I am not.