Dear Lord, have you seen my brain?

I've fallen again, I fell into this state that I have hated ever since I discovered the portal of Hell. I became addicted to the inflicting pain, such a terrible way to end my misery. The taste, it brought me back to this prison. I was a fugitive before this, finally was able of running away from the addiction that haunts me for life. But, maybe in this prison I could find the meaning of my existence. Maybe, in this terrible state of addiction, I could finally redeem my rotting soul.

The smell, the taste, I have abstained myself from these attractions forever but now I have fallen deeply into this demented craving. This addiction, it is never a good escape but through the smell of the burning fire, I found my peace. The fire helps to clear the clouds in my brain. It rains of relentless fiery hopes. Maybe, this is something I need to feel like a human again.

I am guilty in this painful addiction. I hate myself for returning back to this hell hole. It is built of fire and ashes, it burns me rigorously. I wish to leave again, but leaving costs more than any money could ever buy. It requires a sacrifice, it needs my soul to be forsaken. And now, I am one step closer to living life in this hell again.

It's fine. I have no one left by my side so to remain in this state of addiction, I don't think I owe anyone anything anymore.

An apology: shatter me with hope.

In a world filled with hatred, I watch joy fading away from my life. This tender joy I nurture with love and care has now disappeared. I am left with this black hole, it swallows every bit of happiness that is still in me. I feel like I owe an apology to everyone for my existence. I wish time could write me off of everyone's history. I long for life to begin again, so I could do it right this time. Each chapter, each page I have written is a regret I carry with me for the rest of my life.

I weep for the loneliness surrounding me. It binds me with its strong hold on my weak heart. I crave for this heart to be released, but letting go is never my forte. I am weak, I live my life under the shadow of past memoirs, memoirs of those happy times that kept me smiling like a fool; however, they are taken away from me a long time ago. Those memories now have stained my mind, illustrating a vague image of every soul I've met. A connection I could never mend no matter how much I tried, signalling their absence in my quivering mind.

This heart, it speaks of sadness left unheard. It composes the poetry of love left unread. It shares a sheer hope for a better tomorrow, even though all it feels is sorrow. I could not bear this pain, so I'm clutching my pearls from falling too fast. A stream of crystal comes rolling upon my face. This is a sight I seal tight from the world's eyes. Who would care for my pain, innit? I am ashamed, of how I easily open my bare soul to everyone just to be left discarded, like a useless wreck. Could I stop these lips from carving every misery to every stranger I encounter, no?

My life is just a heartache, a bleeding wound that cuts deep by loneliness, deeper than a dagger could. This life is never worth living, but I still have hope. I believe things would get better, even if it never does. I don't mind waiting, although sometimes I question my sanity out loud in my head. I am indeed, a fragile restless soul. So I tried reaching out, only to realize that no one cares. No one ever gives a shit.

It's easier to just sleep than living right now. Give me some blessing, God? Are you even listening to me?