oh, the irony of it all

trigger warnings: suicide, abundant swearing, unreality
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There are so many damn things I want to say and no time to say them in, because it’s at another breaking point and this time when my parents aren’t looking I’ll go pour a glass of bleach and put it on my desk until I’ve made enough peace with this racing mind to drink it or to put it back in the bottle.

I am so, so angry at this pathetic world and this rotting mind and watching it all descend into unfamiliar chaos and the way this world spins I can’t make it stop long enough to breathe.

I am tired of the hate and the hypocrisy and the fact that I must rot and decay in a place where nobody hears my heart even a little, and those that do are worlds upon worlds away and they sent me away.

His love wanted to keep me alive in a time where everyone had to die. He let my beloved die because it was what he wanted and at least he’d die fighting for something worth more than himself.

Why didn’t he let me on the front lines.

Why did he send me back send me here send me away from home.

I wish I could have died on the front lines fighting to the very last breath like everyone else we’d loved and would lose and I wish I could have died fighting for something more than me- I wish I could have died living to the very end

but nothing seems real anymore but pain, pain, pain and all it is is seething agony and the inability to talk like we did and the understanding that if the whole story ends, it might never get better but at least it won’t get worse.

I am so so tired of seeing everyone so different and yet not a single one sees eye to eye and all these voices resound and none of them form a harmony I used to sing alongside.

There was a time I could burn those pitiful wings to dust and remake something just plain damn better out of the ashes but all that’s burning now is the desire to go on and that flame will go out. All the world will stop spinning and when it does there’ll be nobody left to record it

nobody left to notice that the story’s over

and yet and yet and yet something will still live on but at least it won’t be me and I’m just. so. damn. tired.

I didn’t ask for this I didn’t ask for all the memories and all the guilt and to have these wings cut off and that horse shot dead and I didn’t fucking ask for the world to spin in a way so unfamiliar and why. can’t. we. just. stop.

there’s a fight here and it’s just like mine but it doesn’t feel right this is and isn’t what I was fighting for.

and if I’m gonna die I want to choose how but I can’t die how I want to but if I tell the world what I really feel over every single one of them they won’t know what to do because I’m not meant to be this bitter, no oh no, I have to grow and change and become a better person

but hellfire is in my blood flesh and soul and I can’t be better. if you were going to make me live as a mortal or as an angel forever you could have at least taken the memories and the hellfire you could have made this pitiful existence hurt a little less

but you won’t, oh nobody will, because they either aren’t powerful enough or want to watch me suffer and that’s exactly what they’ll get

because his love let me rot in a place I can’t call home

and her love was never meant for me and it never will be because she always fucking loved dialo instead and I’ll never be that so what’s the fucking point and all the world might be a stage but I didn’t write this play and I don’t want to know who’s taking their sick sadistic entertainment from this oh I didn’t fucking ask to be a part of this show

and the show goes on but no character ever does and I see no reason why not to end this character early and go backstage to change

because at the heart of it all these are just rotting costumes that’ll be forgotten about and eaten up by the theatre itself

and no character lasts long enough to be worth anything at all.