I can not write anymore. I can not put these sickly, tainted, days
into words anymore. My tears are gone. My words are gone.
I think that even my heart is gone. I am sick of fighting.
I am sicking of speaking. I am sick of even trying to
live this fragile life. Every single second, a little
bit of my soul drains from me. No more love.
No more laughter. No more life. Little by
little I am leaving. He won't know the
difference. She will call it a tragedy:
That somebody so fragile,
and so built up, like me.
Could fall apart so
quickly.
Author notes
I didn't really try to make this pretty; I just wrote it down raw
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