But your mind is so choked up with the costs of living...you're relieved when you hear the news that you don't actually get to live.
It won’t help to kick at its’ pointless remains. I won’t ever get any closure.
But still, I can’t stop myself from lashing out on my home reminder. The decaying wood collapses and makes a none too satisfying sound as it hits summer’s dying grass. It’s too dark to see much of anything now.
And I think about all the hours I spent here.
All those impatient moments I sat patiently.
All the lies I was told.
All the truths I was never told.
Everything. My fallen brother, who stared me blind-faced and numb-skulled in his last moments, flecked and just callused with killer’s lust.
His heart, so alive so lalalalalala and all I could do was die.
I kick it from me. This fear doesn't want to bother me anymore.
This isn’t how I die. I’m not swallowed by all my regrets, drowning my sorrows in cheap whiskey…it’s just an illusion…fear is an illusion.
Everyone is so reliant on everyone. And when we piss all over those who put up with our bullshit, time just passes so slowly…the sun feels like it won’t ever shine again.
Yet there it is, every morning, every day, still pulling through…still making you a liar.
Still burning bright.