monologue

What the fuck is wrong with you and what the fuck is wrong with us?

Why the fuck do you keep on saying hurtful words, and why the fuck are we hurting each other? Why the fuck are you so hateful and why the fuck are you being so negative? Why the fuck do you slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly break everything apart?

Tell me, self. Tell me all about it. I'll listen, I'll be here.


Oh, I don't know man. Every time I remember, it hurts. Every time I'm reminded of it, I get mad. Every time I think about it, tears would just leak out. Every time I see it, I would just choke on thin air, and my breath would hitch. Rinse and repeat.

Dude, what the fuck. Then don't think about it, you said?

Yeah. That's much easier said than done.

Stop being emo, you said? To fuck with being emo. This is a feeling--my feelings-- and telling me that is the same as telling me to stop being human

"Look at me," he said.

"Look at me, don't look at anything else that don't even exist." so what do I do with this tears and darkness then? I don't know what can I do with them.

This is my existence, maybe. This is my ferocious love, perhaps. This is the very conversation I'm having with my own self. A monologue and probably even a diagetic. About me, about him, about us, and about us.

This is the chaos in my very self, staying in my mind and in every fibre of my being as a long, long string of thoughts.


What do I do, what do I do.