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This is to my family. What.... A bunch of assholes.
(This book is created by Mayagrace4. Aka me. So don't try to steal any of this. )
Spoil alert: everyone dies.
life is poetry. It's poetry within books and poetry that you know you can never become. It's like Romeo and Juliet without Romeo. You die. And you know life is long and you need to go on adventures, like going camping or flying to Japan for a week or so. but those are not big adventures. Those adventures are not worth writing on a page in a book.
I'm that kind of person who cries every night and eat barely anything. Who lives in a house in the country or woods and is miles from a town or the city. I'm that kind of person who barely relies on anyone and calls people "hon." I'm in love with death and life and nothing else.
Its kind of like " Percy Jackson." You have to save yourself . And then you know the best things in life aren't things. you scream and yell and pound the walls and you don't stop. You don't stop until you're bleeding. And even then you still don't stop.
You don't understand why you're like this. Why you bang you're head against the wall and read books constantly. Why you drink coffee and smoke cigarettes every day. Why you can't stop writing about your sadness and why the sky won't stop crying.
It's all just a poetic lie. You have been lied to. I have been lied to by life itself. And it doesn't feel bad for lying to us. It wants to lie again. Life is not all butterflies and rainbows. Life is not roses and mist. Life is a war. It's a beautiful war because in the end, you end up lying down in a meadow with someone you love while reading your favorite book.
But you still hide your emotions. The pain you feel. The sadness that builds up inside of you. And it might be over One small thing, or it might be over millions of things. And you tell yourself it will get better. You tell yourself you will get better but you end up deeper in the mud and your stuck, slowly sinking every breath you take into the reality of real life. Into The reality of real pain.
And the only way to get unstuck is to let people in but you're to scared to do that. You're to scared to get hurt over and over again but you're already hurting yourself. You're already killing yourself. And you know it, But you do nothing about it.
And after a while of struggling, you're neck deep in with only your fingertips showing and all you want is to read that one part of your favorite book where she dies after he tells her he loves her, and kisses her on the lips. And you wait for that to happen to you but then you realize that you let no one in. So there was no one to tell you they love you, but only yourself.
And then you realize how much you hate yourself. How much you hate the length of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your body. And you stay stuck in that mud emotionless until its up to yours nose.
//I'm sorry for the extremely short chapter. But I promise it will be extremely long. Please vote. //
