noviembre 14, 2009

As far as I am concerned, every single minute I spend by myself it is like a torture, the most masochistic torment that any of us could have. And it is just for the sake of my own decision: I wanna stay there by my own, I wanna just talk to myself, or just better to say, to inflict an excruciating pain to my brain. Nobody is there to judge me, so yet I am doing it... and now, more than ever, feels like a drug, just can't stop... I ain't stop someday, I know. It is part of my essence. Who cares? A kind of unsuitable and uncomfortable mist surrounding me, a energetic and powerful vibration that makes me confuse and unsafe at the same time. I wanna go out, scream, run away, slide away... be safe. But it's my mind my cage and my murder, it's my mind my worst antagonist- and I suppose, worst enemy of everyone. So, how you can escape from your destiny of just thinking about everything that makes you less, that set you down. I don't have a temperament strong enough to say stop it. I don't have the certain conditions that it requires to make you slow down and think about other options. I just can imagine the worst things, or the best kind of crimes to my integrity. And again, who cares? You are not there to frustrate all my shots of hurting myself. You are just not there to me, you never was, you never will. And still, who cares? Well, I don't care if you don't... so why must I care about my feelings, when you just set us apart?