Mirror

I get saddened just by looking at my photos

A strange longing for my own reflection, a guy who killed himself with the pictures of his friends family and lovers in the gallery of his phone. I miss myself somehow

Is this something that happens when you decide it?
You you finally decide it?
Am I… already making the preparations?

In a smooth swift of movements and words.

I don’t feel sadness I feel emptiness. Tiredness.

I am depleted. Completely.
This model of existence will kill me
Chemically. Slowly.

I will die regardless, why don’t I just ease and save myself the suffering?

I was once judged and held by others. I was suffering because others… they could’ve saved me the pain. The suffering.
But both decided instead to… play. With me.

Why? Why would the do that?
Why would they talk to me, to hid me, to deflect that they have chosen outside of me.
Why? do I need to find out by myself? Why does it always rely on me?

I’ve carried it, carried the dynamics.

And it won’t change. Ever.

Friends won’t change, lovers won’t change, family won’t change.

Now the reason is not that nobody is willing to help you. A misunderstanding of what to feel alone is about.

Sure, there might be one or two that would like to help.

But loneliness comes from the time you find out… no one works.

Help is useless
Intent is useless

At the end of the night when the sun arises you look at yourself rotten.

All those faces who wanted to support you have failed you that very moment the sun shows.

That’s when you know it’s far gone.

Unlike other who come out and blissfully live.

Not you.

You are not meant to recover.

You are meant to suffer.

And I can’t suffer no more.

I have been broken.

I have looked the mirror. And just for glimpses I saw my face
But my real face.

My deep dark face within that everyone has but not everyone sees.
A face you need years to spend time with to trust and understand. Once you see it you can’t unsee it. It’s an effect that happens a lot with familiars.

But in the mirror, I don’t see that face of me…. My eyes, my hair, my nose.
All of them have reconstructed a mask. A person of other.

And just for glimpses I saw him. Me. again still trapped beneath.

I’m not even myself in this desolate dark spiralling torture I endure.

I can’t be in misery, as I can’t be in happiness. As I can’t exist anywhere.