The Horrors of Existence

She writes about the horrors of existence.

She writes about how you might want to hug your mom and tell her everything that eats your messed up, rotting mind inside but you don't want to bother her, you don't want to get her involved with all the pain that you're going through and it sucks. She knows it sucks not being able to talk about the things that go on in your head. 

It's not that nobody cares, but it always feels like it to you. She writes about the black cloud that surrounds you all day and all night when nobody dared to look at it. She writes about the thoughts that constantly pops in your head, killing you. She writes about how you screamed for help but no one ever dared to listen, no one ever dared to hear you. And she knows how dreadful it must have felt for you. 

How the night lasts all day. She writes about your greatest downfalls and how it never really get's better, it just get's a little bit less worse but it falls apart again, even worse than before. You think it's the final blow but it never is, because deep down your decaying soul, you know that there is always something even more terrible waiting to grasp you with its claws in the future. 

She writes about how you loathed yourself, how you always blame yourself for everything. How you looked in the mirror and loathed what you see. How you simply wish you can escape the horrible reality that you are you no matter how much you kept looking in the mirror trying to see something "good". 

How you cry yourself to sleep when all that's left is the tick of the clock and all the self-destructive thoughts that never stops circling all over your shivering soul. 

She writes about your blank eyes, your invisible tears, your hidden bruises. 

She knows how terrible it was to always try and fail. How you always try to understand everyone when nobody even understands you. 

She knows that they don't know how much pain it took to deal with yourself, without anyone to hold you. They don't know how you just wanted the best for them, and because you knew you weren't enough, you knew your destructive tendencies and you don't want them to be a part of that destruction anymore. Your very own destruction. They don't know how much it took you just to try to be better for them, just to be there when the waves are crashing all over and the world is sinking for them. 

She knows how you tried so hard. You don't want them to be like you. As much as there is such thing as a possibility, you wish to stay.

 You hate yourself, and you wish that they won't hate you too. But we don't always get our wishes granted, ain't we? It doesn't always falls into place. And now all the blame's on you for simply wanting to protect them. They hated you for the actions and the outcomes of your decision when its only purpose was to keep them, away from the pain. You want to keep them away from the pain but it all turned out that you kept them away from you. She writes about it. She knows it. She knows all about the things that had always remained unspoken to you. Because you know why? She is you. And she writes.

There was never really a chance of eradicating the way she always feels about herself. She feels lost. Always. And she doesn't think of changing that very aspect. Being lost with yourself, with your own horrors, being lost in a world you've created, is indeed much acceptable in her logic rather than stepping out of the cave just to risk everything you got, break everything you are and lose yourself completely in a world that never cared and will never ever care.

This is the horror of existence.

No matter where you go, no matter how much you try to avoid the things you fear the most, it can always find it's way to get to you.

And no matter how much you try to get a hold of things, it all slips away. Because the cruelest truth in life is that, all things that come together

falls apart.