The sensation is similar to that of exhaust fumes—clogging your senses, making it hard to breathe—wrapped in unrequited love: a bow of falsity. 

There is no love.

There will never be.

It doesn’t exist.

You break and fix yourself many times over, but get taken apart regardless. The only pieces you can gather are those of grief. 

—“You are not normal”—

—“I am not normal”—

How long has it been since you’ve heard those words? Who cares—everything becomes rubbish in the end. 

School days, wasted by watching the window frame. Framed many times over, becoming one with criminals. Chalking up laughter to lies: failing every class; failing expectations. If the world is like that, why not lose ourselves to insanity? 

Why—why do as you please when love is nothing but a disease? How—how are your endless regrets? How are you doing? You don’t know? How come? How come—

The blade we wield isn’t that of a knife; it's of words, emotions, and pain. We weren’t protagonists after all. 

A life filled with déjà vu; a world overflowing with crime. That alone should push you over the edge, right? Right?

Bidding farewell as if it were nothing, the screen turns to static—how funny. In this society, those who “forget” their promises win, so you may as well fall apart. 

Why—why do as you please when sirens flash, warning of a life gone awry? The sentence kept at the tip of your tongue detonates, taking you with it. You’re scared, right? Right—that knife you hold slices up your future, the words you wield causing more harm than good. 

Envy, attachment—those go hand in hand. Delusion—my favorite—renders them useless. Why pledge ‘til death do us part without knowing when that is? Everything is by design, and those fools in uniforms are no different. Suspicion, vanity, “soulmates”—even if you do well, you’ll still try to manipulate everything and everyone you come across; the worst type of scum.

Why—why do as you please when your love is nothing but a disease? How are you? How are the ones you love? You don’t know? How come?

It doesn’t matter where you run; you can’t escape yourself, nor this warped way of life. This sensation has become unbearable, right? Right—

Are you happy?