It’s that same song again, the one I imagine playing at my funeral.
A funeral I’m late to everyday.
Lying in bed,
I wait for someone to notice the dead body and have it removed.
But no one does because I’m not good enough to be dead yet.
I still breathe and bleed.
I’m still here, like a ghost stuck in a body.
Sometimes I wonder if I possessed this body because my soul was going to hell.
That instead I’d rather torture myself and create my own hell.
The truth is what I desire the most is to never have existed.
How can one end their own existence when hell is eternal?
How is it possible to end my existence without my hatred, could I truly die if I stopped hating myself?
No one’s bothered to kill me, I’m alone.
Either they hate me so much they’d also rather me torture myself endlessly or they just don’t care.
I don’t deserve my suffering to end.
I’m not even worth being killed, out of love or hate, what would someone get out of it?
I deserve to suffer, and no one wants to end it besides the one part of me that loves or even cares about myself.
But my love could never amount to the hatred I bear.
Maybe if someone loved me enough, they could end my existence.
Does God love me?
I don’t know if I ever believed in God, and if I did it was for all the wrong reasons.
I prayed to God, begged he could end me, but I also begged demons who revealed their names in my dreams.
I’m evil.
I’m a selfish person, wishing for love to kill me.
Wishing for a love that doesn’t exist and resenting everyone for it.
It just makes me hate myself more.
Will I ever love myself enough to k**l myself?
Will I ever accept the suffering I would put others through?
I don’t know.
What’s left of me, what even am I?
It feels like I must be a demon devouring itself.
A demon that can’t love itself any other way.
Maybe what makes hell is love.
This is hell’s love and hate.
It doesn’t end, because love is endless just as hate is.
That is torture.
Am I a ghost in a shell or the shell of a demon?
I degrade as the song replays over and over again,
until I cannot be recognized as anything but the shell encasing hell itself.
Powerful. Stay alive.
Powerful and profound… The Samurai believed that everyday one should consider oneself already dead. That we should meditate daily on death in the worst possible ways. Tis far out… Takes great bravery to endeavor upon such reflections. That is the kind of bravery I see here. The bravery to gaze into the abyss, which is perhaps an inevitability. Very nicely done thoughtsdie.