Am I afraid of death?
Yes, I'm afraid of death.
I'm afraid of dying without a purpose.
Death without having lived.
I'm afraid of death.
Of course I'm afraid of death,
I'm afraid of a meaningless death,
without anybody left behind remembering me.
I'm afraid of leaving the world with nothing of me.
But sooner or later, I'll have to embrace my fear.
Become it. Embody it.
Because what I fear, a death without life,
Is what I will receive. So give me death.
Before I give up myself.

Am I angry at life?
I'm furious.
I want a knife,
so I can carve the hurt
out of this world,
and lick up the blood
that pours from the gaping wound
in its pierced and sobbing heart.
Give me a weapon.
Not a weapon of steel or any metal.
Give me a weapon of emotion.
A weapon of dark and cold hatred,
of loss, of nothingness, and eyes that won't cry
because there are no tears left.
Give me the pain to wield it.
No, never mind.
These things, I already possess them.

Am I sad?
Yes, but its not a diagnosis,
not a mental condition.
Its an emotional melancholy,
That has motives, reasons,
and feelings.
How do I feel?
I feel like a dead man,
that walks in a graveyard,
bones rattling, strangling
any living soul that dares
to wander through
in the middle of the night.
I feel alone. Alone. Alone.
I am alone. Truly alone.
Nobody is there for me,
nor do I wish them to be.
Sometimes, Its better to be alone.

Am I Insane?
No. I'm not.
Sanity is not statistical.
I'm simply a minority of one.
I'm a man, walking through a red world,
with no one to be my guide.

Have I Loved?
Yes, I have loved.
And been loved.
But I've never been understood.
Not by anyone.
I'm sitting in an elegant, dark dining room.
The table is hypocrisy.
The chairs are lies.
The table is set with sadness.
And the food has the bitter taste of loss.
I dare not drink, for my thirst is all I have left.
If I quench it, I will be left with nothing.

Sometimes,I try to fold my hands, alone,
in the dark of night,
but my fingers are broken and bloody.

Why am I saying these things?
Why should I reveal so much of myself?
I don't know.
I'm not looking for recognition.
I'm not looking for anything.
I just need to express myself.
Call me insecure.
Call me overly emotional.
I don't care.
This is who I am.
I can't change it.
Nor do I seek to.

This is Me.