Blood in my eyes. Tears of morality. I suffer at the hands of people I do not know yet know so well it pains me to remember their suffering. Suicide is the way out. Any way to escape I want to go. I have no will to stay. Who cares what people think? It’s more than I can take. He’s won. He’s broken me. Life is no longer my destiny. For no longer will I linger but what a shadow will. Fading in and out of lighted areas, but never more than a memory in lace and curls. No red. No blood.
Cold fingers and icy temples line the horizon. Endless shapes filled with the doomed to cry out in torment. To die. To sleep. Perchance to dream. What is our dream in death? Of life? I dream of death while living. Will I dream of living while dead? Will my name be another statistic in the endless waltz of information?
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