This Is How My Fingers Shout

The world just desperately wants me to be a super villain doesn’t it? I always knew there was something different with me – something different with how I think. I always thought it was something good. I was lead to believe that this something… special is what separated me from the whole world. That I’m a whole galaxy in a field of stars. THAT WAS WHAT I WAS LEAD TO BELIEVE.

That there was something good in the world meant for me. That there was something I can look forward to. That I can just reach into space and someone will pull me up and keep me from drowning. THAT WAS WHAT I WAS LEAD TO BELIEVE.

Now I know everything has been just a ruse. There is nothing for me. I have been calling out, making myself heard, shining my own bleeding lighthouse, making these limbs move, making this brain think, making this confounded heart beat because I thought, oh god, I always thought there will always be hope. This force I always figured was something special, something different, something I thought everyone had and that is connected with everyone else... I thought that... that I am no different from any other person. That I am allowed to hope. That the smile on my face is not empty. THAT I AM NOT PRETENDING TO BE HAPPY. That what I am living for is something solid, something real… that THERE IS ACTUALLY SOMETHING.

And it all fucking hits me in the head over and over like a supernovaeing sledgehammer. In the end, it all boils down to being alone. I am all alone. I always thought love was a force that could save me. Do I have love? Do I have real love? Is love even real or is it just a silly word people make up to feel better like tomorrow or God or happy or sad? If so then I am lost...

I always felt I will be found one day. That I will get better. But now… I guess I will always be lost. Kept alive, breathing, and wandering aimlessly, not knowing where to go, not knowing what to do.

And I want to leave. I want to just dig a hole to somewhere else and Just. Stop. Breathing. But even that is out of my reach. What is there to do? These hands refuse to work. These eyes will not want to see anymore. My feet will not take me anywhere. I want to shut myself down. Just one last pulse. I need that one last pulse. And then I want to let go.

JUST PLEASE LET ME GO.