quarta-feira, 10 de fevereiro de 2010

Once again, love hurts.

Sometimes i ask why it's always the same, when it comes to love, i am the one who get's hurt, because the girl already dates a japanese guy, i don't get it after all, it's always the same.

They always did that to me, and worst of all, they even accepted me between them, but i used to believe, that i achieved that with honor and respect, not as an excuse to be a punch bag, ugh...

Anyways, yesterday was depressing, after the new "discovery", i went home so sad that i couldn't even talk for half an hour, i just took some headache medicine, wich didn't worked, and went bed, i talk to my brother, but not even him, could understand me, guess it's just how sad and hopeless my life is.

Honestly i don't even feel like writting here today, the only last thing i have to show, are the poems i wrote yesterday, when i was trying to forget the situation, but in the end they just made me more sad.

Letter to God:

That's how i cry, i have no more tears, because they dried up while i was trying to be strong.

That's how i scream, i have no more grudge, since i've done what i could to earn a comforting voice.

That's how i live, i have no will, for i am the one who depends on people's happyness, to feel less wrong to myself.

Sorry for the times i've cried, i was never scared, but lonely, but wait, sorry, i never meant to disappoint you, thought, i never wanted to disappoint anyone, and so far that's all i've done.

God i'm sorry for the "who" i am, if i could, you bet i would even try to make you proud, but sadly, today i feel like i can't go on.

Don't give up on me, sometimes i can deny, but i know that after all, we both do the best to each other in our ways, i just wish i could be a good person.

A person that wouldn't make others cry.

A person that wouldn't be so weak, and get hurt so easily.

A person that could reflect the light's shine, but i'm just an old candle in the dark, and the wind plays with my small flame, the same way, events do with my faith.

Forgive me for taking your time, you're someone busy, and you don't even have to be bothered by someone pathetic like me, it's just that i wanted to be heard, and i'm losing my hope, since no one listens.

Writting my Tears:

Today i drip the few and very rare tears that represent my hope for everything.

There's a black whole inside my chest, and it drains all the strength in me, causing the inertia i feel now.

The last drop of the faith, the love, innocence, and all i once believed was true, will fall sooner or later, but right now i'm just not feeling coward enough to put an end and "paint it red".

If i could just close my eyes and have good memories, but there are none, sad times haunt me, words spoken that cut my face like gentle razors, as the inertia makes me more static in this ocean of my own sorrow.

No hope for the hopeless, no tomorow for "me" as "myself", it's a really bad amount ink that stains this phrases into my soul, because no matter how you try to forget them, they will never forget you.

The inside of my head is made of looking glasses, and a projector, that every time shows my failures, as they pass on, the more i become the murderer of my own respect.

No one cares, the reason is that i'm wrong, i was born this way, i am a toy made to be broken, the song that sounds dull and deaf.

The melody that plays from my broken heart is a lost treasure, that is fake, because it only has it's value for me, and as i descend in to the depths of my corpse, i learn that it's just worthless as i am.

And keeping all those feelings i become the monster i am, the empty and hollow shadow that wanders around the empty mausoleum of someone who didn't existed.

The example of an energy that leads to it's own end i'm the spiral of deception, the cycle that leads one to the end from the end itself, being the abomination of what's living and what's dead.

I'm the profane, and the more i tried to be worth of the blessing, i still have no answer of it's denial.

Wish i could just ask help, but no one can hear, one that can't speak, for this is the way the world works.

The last wish of someone who's always in the end is nothing but to call for someone, and tell him a story, this story is the blank page of every day, the "do your best", and have hope.

Bye, and thanks for not giving a fuck, after all, i'm just as useless and worthless, as i thought.