We are born alone, so therefore we must die alone.


We surround ourselves with others, yet deep in our hearts we feel the same.


A feeling so strong and over bearing, it’s like sitting in a tub full of ice chips.

Or the sad euphoric voyage into your subconscious after making impressions on your skin.

We are caught in a routine of self-loathing and pain.

Everyday feels the same.

We are so drowned in our insecurities we are afraid of reaching out.

Reaching out to what? I don’t know.

Anything, anything, that will make the day alittle more bearable.

Whatever eases the tension in our chests,

and straightens out the wires attached to our wrists.

We think we want death, but we are scared of the devil.

We’re nothing but desperate marrionettes caught in the universe’s cruel game.

Take a step, or don’t.

We die alone anyways.





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