I cannot but help feel, to realize, I'm missing something.
Slowly I can feel a hole growing larger, feeding upon my emptiness.
It grows continually like a fungas, or residue, annoyingly.
But it's faint...
Just enough to trickle the skin, to moisten my brain.
But I know it will eventually become bigger, and bigger than me.
It will soon eat me alive, until it is full.
Even then, as I am gone, after my lungs have been filled with water and my last gape of air has diminished,
it will continue to grow,
feeding on everyone around me.
People who I've attempted, tried, to love.
People from an ero of where I made the decision to love
and maybe, maybe not, had it returned back to me.
...nevertheless it was all fake...
So as the red angels drip onto the floor,
all I know, to be from the kiss of the blade and my veins.
Still I can't stop thinking that I ******* hate drowning,
even though this pain has been masked by my usual idea of pleasure.
....nevertheless it is all fake...
So I swim in the void,
head floating above the pillars of wasted emotions,
and I drink in blind, gray apathy to further hasten my evolution.
But still doubt beats away, bashing against my head,
creating a perfect circle for emotional and physical pain
to eat away my strength, will, life.
Slowly I sink into the quick sand, head just below the surface.
Love is only an excuse to hurt and to get hurt... Knowledge brings ye fear.