Stop. Why couldn't they just stop. The voices haunted me everyday, reminding me of my imperfections and yelling cruel intentions. Telling me that I wasn't good enough for her anyways, that things are better this way, that what I did was right, but it didn't feel very right. It still doesn't.
There were still blood stains in the corner near the stairs. And broken shards of glass from picture frames and broken bottles of heavy alcohol. The small house was still covered in darkness, I hadn't bothered to touch the lights since that day. But it would always have a heavy feeling to it, even when someone new moved in, because nothing would ever change what happened here and what I had done.
I was slowly, or rather quickly deteriorating, I was disintegrating. I was coming to the end of my road and it was certainly for the best. I can't live without her anyways. There's no point, though I'm not sure there never truly was. We're all so full of lies. It's just that some are much better at coping with the burning desire that comes with handling them.
There was an eviction notice on the door, perhaps they think I'm deranged. That's certainty how I feel, like a deranged animal who's finally come down from their reign of (self) destruction. I've kept myself locked in here for god (not that I have any faith left) knows how long, just sitting here, staring at the mess I'd made. The rancid smell that consumed the limited air didn't faze me any longer, didn't make me want to puke my guts out, it was just what it was, it was normal now.
I have to leave soon, I have to run. Once they come inside they'll see what I've done, they'll see what I've done and they'll punish me, they'll hurt me, make me suffer. And perhaps that's what I deserve, but it's not what I'll take. The voices, ah they're telling me to do it again, to find someone, someone so lovely, someone I could love, and then ruin them, put a gruesome end to them, only to make myself suffer, only to make myself worse. But I don't think it's possible to find another like her. But she's gone and I've gotten what I deserve in the most selfish of ways.
I have to leave, I have to run. And there will be no turning back, no escape from the demons that haunt me. I have to go far, as far as my legs will carry me. As far as the voices take me before they remind me that this is only a cruel joke, and that there is no running away from it all, no escaping, I'll have to face it. I'll have to face the demons.
