I’ve tried to scratch happy, free-wheeling words of joy and sunshine.
But that warmth never reaches me.
I’ve tried to simmer in luxurious phrases of excellence and rainbows.
But that I have never seen.
And I’ve tried to change me.
For fears of labels and suicidal angles that others shove down my throat in an attempt to make me part of them. And this suicide I did not choose, it’s a murder of my soul. I’ve tried to fight back agony and angst. But I fail. And death does not scare me. So therefore I must be…emo…And I cannot simply be me. I cannot stop this gnawing guilt for being pessimistic, for seeing the truth. I’ve tried. I repeat and will forever, I’ve tried.