i died.
but i live on. i just feel dead to everything. i dunno who i am anymore. i feel happy, but wrong.
it feels wrong to feel.
what am i feeling?
i don't feel sad. i don't feel.
i don't wanna think anymore. it has been proven. more bad than good happens whenever i let go. the few good things have made me forget the multitude of terrible things.
i'm a ghost.
i don't want to wake up tommorow. i probably wont. but my brain and body will continue on. i seem to have lost my soul.
i finally managed to open the door to my heart, it came out, saw the sun walked around and rejoiced in the fresh air, but then ran back into the tower again and threw away the key, when it seemed too bright.
If of all words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are, "It might have been,"
More sad are these we daily see:
"It is, but hadn't ought to be."
Francis Brett Hart (or John Greenleafe Whittier, "Maud Muller") |
