6TH

I think I finally succumbed to my mental tortures - it's a whole mental meltdown far worse than watchin Chernobyl right in front of my eyes, or a fledging passenger flight dashing into the WTC. Cyberspace never felt this good cos everything else is factual, nothing else is real; and nothing is ever factual, and all things become unreal.

I spoke to the table today and it said it got tired of standing; the chair said likewise; the bed had it worse: it can't sleep within itself.

I also made up my mind - I'm leaving. For sure. It'll only be a matter of time. I can no longer comprehend the vastness of people taking advantage of people, nor can I truly appreciate how much sincerity is now worth. I gave my heart, but the world consumed it like some dark evil character in an anime picture that freezes over a spot of light. Such irony - when you feed yourself with pure white hopes, and the return key shows you on-screen the bleakiest picture ever.

Jean, I need a shrink. I mean it.

And then, hope stood between choices and decisions. Which do you go for? Truth? or go down with a fight? I fucking hate them. And by them, yeah, I meant those who helped pushed and zipped my devious plan to paint a beautiful picture of love.

I hate them.

To the core.

I hate them. I really do. So much so I'll remember the 6th for the rest of my fucking life, which honestly, won't be too long.

Tell me about karma? I'll tell you about real life. I walk the streets every day looking at impossibles being done; I read in the news till I'm sick of the media; I hear stories till I find myself vomitting and falling cancerously sick; and what then? Tell me about karma? I'll tell you what survival does to a man.

He kills to live and swears to defend; threatens to get and loves just so to be forgotten. So ask me about real life again, no, don't even try asking me what love is. Try asking me about real life, and you see me, a real living person trying to survive.

I don't know what got into me. Really. I wish I knew, but it seems finding out why doesn't really matter anymore for I find no use for information of facts and figures, uninteresting, disruptive, and even irritating at his very moment in time, much like an active volcano that is purely uninterested in who lives below or what tide it'll bring.

Dear divined: You put me here today to suffer the wrath of what I have done before. Yet, you give me the best things I've ever had in this life. You torment my weak soul and break my mental strength. Please. Let me breathe. I need to breathe. I need to breathe.

And no matter what excuses, elaborations, reasons, or words said about my poor old zipper, I hencforth hold the 6th tormentingly haunting in my head.

I live a real life. Are you living a real life?

For those who frequent, not that I do not support your cause, but cyberspace has been a dear friend for many years, and I honestly don't want myself to be abused any further with forceful anticipation or reception. The spectacle of a hated fallen comrade wields great emotional powers that may eventually bring grief, but who else's gonna cry you a tear when your comrade dies.

I want to leave.

All the things that you might rememeber,
And all that hurts you cannot recover...
Some things were not meant to endeavor,
And the reason starts to blur altogether...
That is what life be - REQ