-- Posted by Fallen on 10:53 am on July 10, 2001        "I started when I was seven,"  she tells me. Tears slide down her flushed cheeks and glisten softly on her jaw.   "I didn t begin with harder stuff for a couple more years. My mom hated my father, or so it appeared, and escaped to nightly bingo games down at the hall. I used to lay in bed at night and wait for the headlights to know she made it home safe. But I never wanted to be saved."            I envy her.         She looks serene with the trails of silver that fall softly onto her shirt. Even crumpled against the wall, in the corner of the bathroom, she looks so calm and composed. The cracked tile that lays beneath her was probably once an off-white or fair color, but the years of ill usage and water damage have turned it a disgusting shade of yellow.          She cries silently as her voice trembles and cracks. She takes a deep breath and sits up.            "I couldn t take it any longer. I would have broken. I would have ended it. But I never wanted to be saved. I never wanted to be rescued. "         She picks up the gun beside her and turns it over and over again in her hand. A smile creeping upon her lips as she runs her fingers along the handle.           "The first gun I ever fired was my grandfather s. I was rummaging through his closet and it fell out of the holster. It could have gone off. It was loaded. I could have been killed. All the same it was exhilarating. I had to feel it s power   her smile is almost hideous."        She puts down the gun and takes another deep breath.        She disgusts me.        The short, sandy brown locks frame her face. Stray hairs fall down around her eyes and she pushes them back effortlessly. The white of her socks peek out from beneath her olive green pants and she shifts her body.  She twists the ring around her finger and clucks her tongue.          "He was supposed to be different,"  she pushes the hair back from her face again,   "and he was. He really was."         Her arms slide down her thighs and the bracelets around her wrists make a soft sound against the fabric of her pants.          "He was probably the one thing that kept me going. But it made me hate every waking day. It made me hate everyone." the tears are gone and her face is only a little damp now. She folds her legs beneath her and crawls over next to me.         " I never wanted to be saved. I never wanted to be rescued."          She s cold and her body is rigid. Her skin feels like cool glass against my own.          My white socks peek out from beneath my olive green pants and my bracelets slide gently against my thighs. I ball up my fists and scream, shattering the mirror before me. As I twist the ring around my finger, I push the short, sandy brown locks behind my ears and cluck my tongue. I lie down against the cracked yellow tiles and cry softly...            "I never wanted to be saved, I never wanted to be rescued."     (Edited by Fallen at 10:20 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by Glacialis on 1:35 pm on July 10, 2001 I'll definately wait more texts from you. -- Posted by Fallen on 2:00 pm on July 10, 2001        "I'm running out of room, don t make me say it- and I want the life you think I have"            I can feel the hard floor beneath me. The room is dark and cast with tints of blue from the television. I can hear the static coming from the snowy screen, but I can t bring myself to turn it off.        I stare blankly at the floor and notice the glitter in the bracelets around my wrists. They sparkle and glisten in the blue hues of the dark room. I look up at the snowy screen again and it fades to a dull grey as I feel a lone, warm tear slide down my face.        The ceiling fan above pushes my hair in front of my face, getting caught amidst the tears. They quickly dry and I take a deep breath, pushing myself up onto the bed.        Please don t make me hurt you. Just please don t push it anymore. I don t want to hurt you, but I don t want to hurt myself either. Don t make me do this- but it s already done. You just don t know yet.         I'm seeing someone, and you don t know it yet. But I'm not crying about that.         I wouldn t cry about that.         I lost feeling for this, a long time ago. Too long ago. I'm crying because, I don t know what I'm going to do now BJ. I don t know what s going to happen next. This uncertainty scares me. But I'm not supposed to be afraid. I'm supposed to be strong remember? But what if I can't be strong anymore? What if I don t want to be?         I'm still just a child. I don t want to play grown up anymore. I want to be the person you think I am. I want to know the things you think I do. I want to be as strong as you think I am. I want that life you think I have...   (Edited by Fallen at 10:18 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by Glacialis on 2:41 pm on July 10, 2001 That was fast :) I like it, like I did the previous. -- Posted by Fallen on 3:15 pm on July 10, 2001       "Every time I close my eyes, I'm reminded of the darkness in your life..."        I lied. I bit my tongue, and pushed back the hair in my face. The hair caught amidst my tears. The tears that mingled with my clumpy mascara and ran pointlessly down my face.        Do you know what I look like with tears streaming down my face? Have you ever felt my body shudder in complete misery? Have you ever seen me push back the truth, and wash away the lies with tears?       My clumpy mascara ran senselessly down my face. But they didn t know it. They weren t looking at my face when they asked me. They barely heard my voice.        I lied.        I lied and told them that I was happy with where I was in life. I was happy with who I d become. I was happy with the things I d accomplished and the things I've done. I was content with the person I am now, and how I've triumphed over the person I was- but I'm not.        I lied.        Don t you see? I don t know where I'm going. I only know where I've been. I don t want to look behind me, I don t want to look ahead. And now I don t know where I'm going. I don t know what is happening. I don t know where I am in life- who I am in life.        I lied.        I pushed back the hair that was tangled amidst the tears and I lied through my fake smiles and clumpy mascara. And now I'm just as lost as I ever was. As I've ever been... (Edited by Fallen at 10:23 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by CardsForSorrow on 6:02 pm on July 10, 2001 I dont know what to say, other than there are now tears, actual tears, running down my face.... if you ever stop writing, the world has made a sad loss, i tell you that.... you get better everyday, and you are one of the most beautiful people i have ever had the pleasure to know... you are a beautiful person.... everyone needs to be told that once in a while.... sincerly.... and i do mean it.... i was told it the other day, and nothing compares to the feeling of knowing that someone out there cares for you, and sees all that makes you, and loves you for it, so now I am returning the favour, in hopes that it will make you feel even part of what i felt..... YOU ARE A BEAUTIFUL PERSON -- Posted by Fallen on 6:05 pm on July 10, 2001       "So you think you can tell? Heaven from hell ."        This feeling...this feeling is so cold. Its raining in on me from all sides. The feeling of worthlessness. The feeling of all my hopes being abandoned once again. the feeling of my trusts being betrayed.       And you think you re making things interesting?       I laugh and smile like it s a game.       And it s raining in on me from the outside- barging in upon me from the outside, and taking me for all I'm worth.       I can close my eyes now and feel the screams. I can open them up and see your voice.       Why have you become this way? So rigid, so cold. I look around and no one else sees it. no one else hears it- but I do.       I do.       Do you think you could tell? One of my plastered on smiles from a genuine one? Do you think you could tell the difference between my tears and my laughter?       I look around the cold metal table, and once again I'm all alone. And the feeling descends down upon me once more.  And I look up at you but all I can feel are your screams... I love you Mags. (Edited by Fallen at 10:25 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by CardsForSorrow on 6:11 pm on July 10, 2001 "There's nothing wortht the wear of wining But laughter, and the love of friends" I love you too Kris -- Posted by Fallen on 6:43 pm on July 10, 2001       It's been a while since I've done this. A while since I could finally sit myself down once more and write. To be able tp type the fragile words as the screen becomes blurry time and time again.       I close my eyes and remember the way the air smelled. The way the wind bit at my face and burnt my skin.       I can always remember. Whether I want to or not.       The bitter memories that possess my everyday life sometimes consume me. I look up and can see the light filtering in through the blinds. The room is painted in shadows, cloaked in grey and white tones as my eyes adjust to the faint glimmer of light. Sounds fade through the air, and the words come through clearly.       I bite my lip hard as I realize that once again I've woken up, and it'll be just another day.       I remember...everything. But don't I always?       He's so cold. This feeling. This feeling is so cold, it burns from within and possesses everything I once had. Taking it all for it's own.       But don't you know? I always did.         And it's just another day. Just another run of the mill day. And when this day finally ends, another will come up to follow. As they always do.       But didn't you know? I always thought I did.      What have I become? What did they see? Was it something I never had before? Or something from beneath? Have I been covering it up all along? Or it seeping out from within?       But didn't you always know? God knows I never did.       Can you give me all the answers? Will you take it all away? if I knew a way how...I would've done it a thousand times over already. Don't you know that?        Sometimes I just wish that I did. (Edited by Fallen at 10:29 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by Glacialis on 1:40 pm on July 11, 2001 *sad smile* That sounds so familiar. I hope you won't go so far down as I did. In the end, I lost all my emotions, and then there was nothing left. I have almost no memory of that time. Then I read Khalil Gibran's "Prophet", and it helped me to start over again. To start... to get the courage to feel again. Since I was 7, I thought that emotions were a hindrance and should be removed. I figured that if I overload my mind with pain, they'll vanish, as they did. But to see that you've tortured yourself for 11 years for nothing, only to fight to repair the damage you've done to yourself... Hmh. What am I left with from that time? Understanding and acceptance. Perhaps too lots of them. And my love for melancholy. There is no emotion sweeter to me, than a certain longing melancholy, which has some compassion and love for the whole world. Sadly, I'm too uncaring to feel it often anymore. I'm content of just being able to feel again. -- Posted by Amor Fati on 2:20 pm on July 11, 2001 God , I hate this...I am too tired to read all this...:angry: -- Posted by Fallen on 2:22 pm on July 11, 2001        Pain is more beautiful than anything I've ever known. Does that sound so terrible?        As I lay awake in bed, I watch the ceiling. I see things other people don t see.        Does that make me odd?        I hear things that others cannot hear.        Does that make me unsound?        I feel things that others don t feel.        Does that make me humane?        I know things that others couldn t possibly know.        Does that make me wise?        Are you going to turn away from me now? Like you always do.        Are you going to shut me out now? Like you ve always done?        And I lay here in bed. Wondering. Waiting. Like I always do. Like I've always done.        Things seem to go by in a blur, everything streaming together like watercolors.        I rarely see light any longer. I rarely see color anymore.        The life of me has bled dry. I never wanted to be saved before, and now it doesn t seem like the worst thing in the world.         You know, I sense things other people don t.         What does that make me? (Edited by Fallen at 10:31 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by Amor Fati on 2:29 pm on July 11, 2001 One of us... I loved this. -- Posted by Glacialis on 2:34 pm on July 11, 2001 It makes you you. If you weren't as you are, you wouldn't be you. Being so, the current you, is also the perfect you. As every moment is a perfect one, and no life lacks anything, so we all are perfect, if we learn that there really isn't anything more we need. We sing the song of life with many different voices and different ways, and they all are right and beautiful. The odd cacophony is just relative to the perspective of observation. In the end, there is nothing more than the song. If the first line you wrote is true, then I can rest easier, for there is someone else, who finds beauty and 'good' in things generally thought 'bad'. -- Posted by Fallen on 2:38 pm on July 11, 2001 i'm never any good with compliments, but someone once told me to share my words with the world because even though a few words won't change their opinion, and a person they don't know won't make them rethink everything they've ever thought... it might, and this might, and i might. and so i thank you. (Edited by Fallen at 11:33 pm on July 11, 2001) -- Posted by Fallen on 2:41 pm on July 11, 2001        There s this state of unawareness that I reside in now. This oblivion I've softly fell into.        My hand goes numb as I slide it across the cold tabletop. It s an off-white cream color with flecks of brown and gold amongst it. The lights hanging from overhead show in the reflection of the glossy tabletop. And I slip further into my oblivion. The soft blue, cool hues of my oblivion.        I stare blankly at the glossy tabletop as they sit down before me. I don t look up as I see something no one else can see. I can hear the noises coming from the gaping messes in their faces. All they do is talk. The eerie laughter makes me cringe over and over again.        I touch the cold tabletop once more.        It feels so cool against my skin. I look up and my mother possesses a suddenly vacant stare. I used to pity her, now I only despise her. The sorrow that I once held for her has been replaced by an utmost amount of hatred.        I can smell the scent of her cigarettes burning in my nose. It reminds me of the late night conversations I have with Bradley. Sometimes I smoke three or four cigarettes right after each other. And at other times, a cigarette even being near my face disgusts me. Being near my mother disgusts me. People disgust me.         I look at my mother again and her vacant stare makes me almost sick. I look back down at the reflection of the lights hanging overhead on the tabletop.        And I'm slipping further into the soft blue hues of my oblivion. My state of unawareness, where your blank stares can t hurt me any longer.        The tabletop feels so cool against my skin... (Edited by Fallen at 10:37 pm on Jan. 15, 2002) -- Posted by Amor Fati on 2:42 pm on July 11, 2001 No, we thank YOU for what you're writing. -- Posted by Glacialis on 2:51 pm on July 11, 2001 I too was once told to write. I painted the dark 'soulscape' of mine to words. As I found the metaphors from reading what I wrote, I could think others that would ease my being. I waged war with my fragmented self; a war of metaphors. Why being good never got me anything but torment? Why doing as was thought right instead of what I felt, was not doing any good? There are now only two people who mean anything to me. Mihnea (Amor) and another one. But even in the deepest dark, don't wish for not feeling. It will come if it will, but don't encourage it. For not feeling, is being dead. It is nothing. We are our emotions. -- Posted by Fallen on 2:55 pm on July 11, 2001 there is a point in time where you're suddenly past the point of tears, past being angry, beyond the pain. where you question your laughter, your smiles, and yourself. and it is then all is lost. -- Posted by Amor Fati on 2:57 pm on July 11, 2001 That is so true, about the feelings, Ile...That feelingless period I had  was so dark and bleak...Just today I had that topic "Stakes" which was about this... (Edited by Amor Fati at 2:58 pm on July 11, 2001) -- Posted by Fallen on 3:09 pm on July 11, 2001 i keep loyalties with beginning threads. i'll only create them for very, very special reasons. one being jason, and the other being myself. and jason is special. he is a unique and beautiful snowflake. unless the rest of the world. -- Posted by Glacialis on 3:17 pm on July 11, 2001 Quote: Quote: from Fallen on 12:55 am on July 12, 2001 there is a point in time where you're suddenly past the point of tears, past being angry, beyond the pain. where you question your laughter, your smiles, and yourself. and it is then all is lost. Yes, the numbness. After I first had it, it has never really gone away. It lurks, in the edge of my mind. It's a void, that devours all life it comes into touch with. A dark vortex that fills the sky and yearns for more. I hope it will not eat you wholly, like it did to me. It's easy to let go and drift away into nothingness. It isn't easy to get out. You're like a differet person just piggy-backing on your old self, and then even that vanishes, and you don't remember anything, you just exist because your body doesn't realize to die, even as the spirit has done so. And your spirit still is held in this world, as it's corporeal being is alive here. Still, I wouldn't think whole death would have been a better option. Even if the daemons whisper it, even if the moment of numbness gives nothing against it. I could just be, 'cause I did not exist. And Mihnea, you'd be surprised of the things that can brew in your mind when in the hot reddish heat of sauna. They're just damn hard to put in words... -- Posted by Fallen on 3:38 pm on July 11, 2001 it always consumes you. it becomes you. but you allow it to become you, to consume you, to overtake you. am i making any sense? -- Posted by Glacialis on 3:50 pm on July 11, 2001 Yes, for in the end, it is you. There is nothing in your mind, that you haven't let there. You have complete freedom to do anything in your world, in your mind. You have complete freedom in, and power over anything you do or have there. We get so easily baffled by all the crap we're being thrown at, but it's crap that makes plants grow, you know... -- Posted by Inertia on 4:05 pm on July 11, 2001 Guhginafuh... :eek5: As someone who has waded through a lot of shitty online writing over the past few years, I've built up something of a thick skin. This sliced right through it. Like a katana. That's all I'm really going to try to say right now. -- Posted by Glacialis on 4:18 pm on July 11, 2001 ? WTF? You're free to ignore if you have a problem. :angry: -- Posted by Amor Fati on 1:08 am on July 12, 2001 Inertia, what the...? Innitially I thought that what you said was a compliment :clown: -- Posted by JuggleFoe on 1:46 am on July 12, 2001 Quote: Quote: from Inertia on 6:05 pm on July 11, 2001 As someone who has waded through a lot of shitty online writing over the past few years, I've built up something of a thick skin. This sliced right through it. Like a katana. That's all I'm really going to try to say right now. yeah, i think that was a compliment, ya' silly gooses. (er, geese...) -- Posted by Inertia on 11:34 am on July 12, 2001 Yes, it was a compliment.  A big one. Any writing that slices through skin is good writing, as far as I'm concerned. -- Posted by Glacialis on 12:15 pm on July 12, 2001 Hmm... K. Sorry about that then. As you might've guessed, I understood it meaning that it was such crap it sliced through the tough skin. :dazed: -- Posted by Inertia on 12:22 pm on July 12, 2001 Nah.  The crap just makes the skin tougher. ...Or something. This metaphor is getting out of hand. -- Posted by Lacking in meaning on 12:40 pm on July 12, 2001 Metaphors are like rabbits - sometimes they don't work both ways. -- Posted by Lacking in meaning on 12:44 pm on July 12, 2001 I'm quite pleased with that - it'd be a good 'humourous' quote for people to put on their signatures on message boards or something. -- Posted by Fallen on 1:09 pm on July 12, 2001 Thank you for your heart felt replies to my pieces dear. “I've got a crush on a pretty pistol…”  What happens when you stop caring? Some say that you’re dead inside, dying within. What happens when nothing matters anymore? Will time stop for you? Will people notice? Will the world spin in the opposite direction? Or will it even matter? What happens when the passion you felt before for something or someone dies?  Do you pass on along with it? What happens? Some say that…I've stopped caring. Some say that…nothing matters. A part of me is dead now. Am I dying along with it? there’s something that’s missing. A void that cannot be filled. A hole within that I'm falling into. A large part of me wants to confess my sins to the pretty pistol. A large part of me wants her to take it all away. Or maybe I just want to get away. From this. From them. From everything. If I stopped caring…if nothing mattered. What would happen? -- Posted by Glacialis on 1:31 pm on July 12, 2001 What happened to me when I lost all emotions, was that I spent my days walking randomly around the streets, and the evenings mostly curled up in the corner of my room, with all lights out. So I've been told. I don't have more than few memories from that period. The rest was void/null/non-existent, as I used to express myself pretty mechanically back then. After 2½ months of this, I remember realizing, that if I had known what it was like to be without emotions before I lost them, I wouldn't have liked it. That's when I started the long journey back. My parents never noticed a thing. They were too busy drinking. My brother just didn't care, and my 'friends' abandoned me well before I collapsed. But being emotionless was easy. Time went by unnoticed. It might've saved my life, as the 2 weeks before collapsing totally, everything potentially lethal shone in my eyes, sharp stumps of branches, cars, knives, high falls... In the end, it didn't matter one fuck to me, did I have emotions or not. Now, I see that it was nightmarish time. I have never been able to fill the hole that was left. The hate towards most people, cynic, almost pessimistic attitude. In the end, if you pull the trigger, you'll just throw the burden to others. We do not know if there's something on the other side. We all will eventually die, but we'll live this once. Think well, if there is anything to live for on this side, and then think again. It's quite an irreversible decision. So far, both of those whom I've talked to when thay were about to end it (other on a 8th floor balcony, other in the woods with a knife), found something, even if things looked insurmountably grim. But there is little more that I could tell you. I can only say how things were with me, and some of that of the others. There are many of us suffering, but those that pull through, come usually out with more uderstanding, and a more open mind. Ultimately, what path you take, is your decision, and the freedom of decision is pretty much the only true freedom we have. -- Posted by Fallen on 7:33 pm on July 13, 2001 I'm sitting here in the darkness, and I wonder when it all began. Maybe it was earlier than I had imagined. Maybe it was later than I'd thought. The cherry wood of the table looks even darker in the pitch black hues of the room. I wonder if maybe I've always been like this, just too consumed with what everyone thought to notice. Too consumed with the thoughts of BJ, that were still underlying the moments of my day. I think maybe I wasn't always like this, that maybe a time ago I had felt something. Felt....anything. Mother sits down next to me on the sofa and she asks me what is wrong. I don't know, I tell her. She asks me what I need. Again I can only tell her I don't know. The cherry wood of the table seems to darken in the pitch blacks hues of the room. Maybe it began some time ago, and it's been building up inside of me. Or rather tearing me down. She tells me she can't read my thoughts, and if she could it might frighten her. She asks me what is wrong. I tell her I am hollow. She says she doesn't understand. I know you don't. The pitch black hues of the room seem to lighten, and the cherry wood table stands out through the crystal tears she wallows in. She asks me what I want her to do. I tell her I don't know. I hear her stifle a cry, but it doesn't seem to disturb me. She stands up and says she's sorry, and leaves me in the pitch black hues of the room....wondering when it all began. -- Posted by Glacialis on 2:13 pm on July 14, 2001 I believe we don't see the way it is, before we are 'awakened' by some tragedy. We are dreamers, and think that everything's just sunshine and birdsongs, and try to forget all the darkness, despair and pain. I never felt so strongly present before my fall, as I do now. It's like the pills on Matrix, but you can't choose. I rather live seeing the dark, than in the clouds and sun. -- Posted by Fallen on 6:38 pm on July 17, 2001 “ Nothing can stop me now, cause I don’t care anymore.” My legs are crumpled beneath me as I sit on the side of the bed and become lost in the music. I open my eyes and glance downwards towards the carpet. It’s a smooth shade of cream. A virgin shade of cream. I close my eyes and become lost in the music again. I can feel the pools of blood surround my feet. The warm pools of blood collecting beneath the soles of my feet, around my toes and my heels. The blood beneath the arches turns cold from the drafts overhead. I open my eyes to see the carpet. The virgin shade of cream has been stolen, replaced by a crimson shade of lost innocence. I can feel the pools of blood around me, turning cold from the drafts overhead. I'm lost in the words as I close my eyes yet again. I lay my head between my knees and lace my fingers across the back of my neck. I'm lost in the words, as I feel the blood cascading down my neck, drops collecting at the base of my throat. Falling into the pools of blood on the carpet, that are collecting around my feet. I'm so lost in the words. I hear the last note of the song play and I open my eyes with a jerk. I look down beneath my legs to the floor. The cream color carpet still stands, it’s innocence yet to be defiled. I look to my wrists and I see no open wounds, but just the faint traces of almost healed times. I rumple my legs beneath me and sit on the edge of the bed. Sometimes I just get so lost in the words… -- Posted by Fallen on 7:07 pm on July 28, 2001          I inhale and see the end of the cigarette light up, the smoke filling my mouth and lungs. The smoke spirals away from my lips, making small circles of bluish grey clouds around my head.          I close my eyes and see the stars again. I smell the grass and the dew again, the hot air all around us. I taste the smoke in my mouth and lungs and I hear her say it again.          “I love you.”          “I know,“ I say.          I open my eyes and the smoke seems to float away from me, on some blissful voyage up towards the fan.          I glance up towards the ceiling and make out the small cracks in the plaster. The small room is so barren. I think the light bulb went out a few months ago.          I don’t mind.         “And my world falls down, and you’re there, calling out.”         My head falls softly to the right and I hear her say it “I know.”         The orange tint of the small bottle seems so frightening now. It’s contents now emptied and it’s label reading the name of someone other then me.         A small smile creeps upon my lips and I bring the cigarette to my lips once more, inhaling less then I did minutes ago. The ceiling fan moves at a slower pace now. Or maybe I'm only imagining it. I wouldn’t know the difference anymore.         I don’t think I want to die really. I love who I am. I love my life. I think. It’s not that I really want to die, it’s just…         I don’t really want to die, I just want to see if I'll wake up.         The  ceiling fan swings around even slower now, though it’s blades seem so much longer. Maybe I'm just imagining it.          “And my world falls down, and you’re there, calling out. But it’s something I can’t say. Though it seems the only way. But it’s a game I can’t play. Not today…        “And the world falls down, and you’re there calling out…        I close my eyes and I feel her fingers running through my hair.        “I'm worried about you,” she tells me.         “Don’t worry,” I tell her.         “I'm pushing zero, where is my hero? He’s out there somewhere. Left of the middle. And your world falls down, and you’re there calling out…”         I feel my face grow warm with tears.         Am I crying?         I take another drag of my cigarette and let it fall to the ground. I wonder when I left the room. Was I ever really there?        “There’s something I need to tell you. Trying to get through, it’s not always easy. Left of the middle…” (Edited by Fallen at 10:40 pm on April 21, 2002) -- Posted by Fallen on 8:44 pm on April 21, 2002 I feel so empty inside. I feel so devastatingly empty inside. I feel angry, and hopeless, and so terribly alone. I have hungering rage inside of me, and it's as if nothing in the world will satisfy it. It's as if nothing in the world will help me in this unrecognizable state that I'm in. My senses are in a frenzy of despair as I careen up and down the coast of happiness. I stare from time to time out the window, wondering and waiting for when the ride will be over. I wonder and wait for when I'll finally be able to sit on the shore and let the waves roll in, let the water lap at my toes. As for now, I sit here in my seat alone, wondering, waiting for the times to come, for the time to pass. -- Posted by Fallen on 8:45 pm on April 21, 2002 I stare hopelessly at the ceiling, waiting for the golden splashes of sunlight to drip down upon me. I stare longingly at the ceiling, waiting for the drops of honey to rain down upon me--but there are no golden rays of life this morning. There will only be pale, weeping moments of light to filter in through the window this morning. There will only be lifeless moments of wonder. Should I wake? Or let them pour through me, taking me to where they lay? -- Posted by Fallen on 8:46 pm on April 21, 2002 It's the misery that makes people jump. It's the apathy that causes countless people to cut. It's the things you think of like your father's obsession with his cheap car that he'll someday 'pass down to his daughter' that makes you cringe when you're making the noose. It's the little things in between that cause you to slowly break down and become so horribly miserable, so terribly hopeless, so utterly despondent that you want nothing more than to end the charade and get it over with. Thats why you take the entire bottle, thats why you pull the trigger. It's the constant day-to-day whirl of waking up and knowing you haven't anything to aspire to be. It's rolling over in bed and thinking to yourself that there are no hopes you wish to have, no dreams you wish to follow that finally makes it all seem sensible that ending it completely can be the only, and final, answer.