My preemptive eulogy.

This is the last post I'm writing.





I wake up in the morning and I feel incomplete. I lay in my own filth and charge the rest of the world with deceit. The lies that you tell are told as the truth, yet I see that there's a different in the reason of your chosen route.

Every day, I'm told that what I do is wrong. No one lays a finger on the evidence. It's always about themselves, and not understanding, though it may seem. I don't have the patience or the peace of mind to deal with these people. I cast you out and while I hope to never again hear from anyone, it saddens me. How did I end up surrounded by people who are so blind to everything in life? It's always about points and arguments, wrongs and rights. Empathatically, it should be about wanting to know the truth. Empathy, not holistic dictatorship. I don't care what others think when they shove it at me and tell me I'm wrong... I don't give a shit about the cares of others, especially when they're based only on their own supposition and assumption. Everyone is so blind, yet they see everything around them. They choose not to act or speak their mind, because they don't think it will be their last chance.

When someone blasts against the wind, because they want to be heard, it's always for selfish reasons. It's never about real pain or regret, or hurt feelings... it's in terms of what they want to accomplish by speaking. It's a lie, because it's for the wrong reasons and nothing more than empty words. Fuck every single person who thinks this way, and I hope that they are greeted with a true understanding of how cruel life can be. I see it so easily, yet it's still driven through with the same anxiety, as if by completing their statement it's immortalized in stone. As if I care at all why they're speaking, as if I don't see right through them and want to tear the person apart.

I'm finished with this life, with its intricate clockwork planning my demise. it's a countdown to a climax that leaves me feeling empty, because it's given to those shown in light, those who lie and steal, manipulate and cheat their way into acceptance. They show only what's acceptable, and justify themselves along the way as they chase me into a corner; like I have to explain myself.

If it's just a part of me that is gone and done with, or if its the whole... I don't know. I don't know if I can kill the innermost part of me to save the layers of acquiescence. I don't really want to. I'd rather die than have to live as others do, part of a larger, robotic herd.

I've seen so many things, and done things that most will never know or understand. I've delved so deeply into the drudging chaos of life, and I've been smacked around more than I could ever deal with. Reality is a bitch, and to say that isn't giving the statement enough credit.

Everything makes me sick of life, the seconds that wind down into another night: A long, grueling journey of isolation and insomnia. I always feel as if I missed something, as if I haven't thought things completely through. But, I'm done with that. The rounded corners don't offer any finality, it only leads to another problem, another phase of emotional yearning.

My body is deteriorating, and that isn't an over-exaggeration. I hurt a lot of the time, and my state of mind is affected by it. All I think about are my dreams, my aspirations of completeness. It's all a lie... there is no complete, because others will fuck it up time and time again. People are selfish creatures, whether they want to be or not.

So I'm done. I'm finished, I'm exasperated. I don't need all of this stress, every day, because of other people. Even if its always originated from my own panging, blaring loneliness... I'd rather choose to be alone forever than to have it displayed to me through other people.

I don't know what happens next... but one thing is certain: This part of me is dead. My feelings have died, my mind is barren. The threads that hold me together are unwound and frayed, because I never knew what the 'right' thing to do was. And now, I'm stuck, with no backpedal, no out, nothing. I don't even have a single moment of serenity in the day, because I'm either watching myself slowly die, or having someone explain to me how they know nothing of me, they don't understand my situation in the least, yet they know what's right for me.

So, either way, I'm dead. I'm just waiting for my body to finish the job. And as I go to sleep, as I drift into the subconscious, I know I'll feel the same tomorrow, because I'll still be here, waiting for all those things that never arrive. The things I can't reach for, the things I've already lost.