Pretentious

Is there anybody as lonely as me? Is there any life as pointless as mine? How many words have I deleted to hide from all the chasm opening wide shadowing over and engulfing my insides? They creep into the words: the fears I must hide. There are lies to cover the lies that lied about the liar who resides now in a desert of dried waste. Why even bother with anything at all?

The sun, that last ray of hope, falls from the sky, leaving me here so alone. I walk for no reason where no reason would wander. Head down and eyes closed, I cross the traffic in the road, hoping against hope that no one will see me until it's too late. The other side is better now that I left it. But now I am here, and no relentless longing will change this fact.

What? I've never left this house? All have walked out on me. No one believes in anything anymore. Everyone hates the one who stands up and proclaims, "Enough!" It is a most lonely existence. Diligence will be punished by insidious behaviors even from the ones professing their love. I find it hard not to hate.

I can just sit here and loathe you for a lifetime. Your treachery runs so deep; the disdain in you gives rise to the contempt in me. DON'T YOU FUCKING TALK TO ME WITH THAT TONE IN YOUR VOICE! I can yell louder, punch harder, claw deeper than you. What's burning you is what's positively consuming me. I would gladly tear your face from your skull to show you the error of your ways.

It is just the loneliest feeling to have to die all by oneself. No one else will join me. Everyone else gets to keep living just the way they are. I am afraid, but one look at the decaying of your face tells me that to live your life is worse than death. Perhaps you will hold close my memory once I am gone. Because I am dead does not mean you must remember me fondly. The legacy of the dead buries the dead even as I die.