Can't you see how flat my words are that there is no joy behind them what is blinding you to my pain is my mask really that good. Shall I keep on just pretending that it is all doing well, when really all I want to do is rip these stitches to end my hell. Nothing ever seems to end it just repeats again and again, over and over in endless cycle to always draw me down. Let the flat words feel the page with no love of joy behind them, let them play on forever more, till I lay unmoving on the floor. May sun and wind no longer rule my every waking moment, for this is all there seems to be are these flat words I send to thee.

Hollow games and empty wins for ever decorate the hall, with worthless trophies all of plastic all to break should they fall. Yet ever still i keep persisting and my body still resisting the flat words that pour from me begging my soul to be set free. Never wanting joy or pain just to be set free again it doesn't matter any more as they fall from screen to floor. Let them lay there unneeded now with no power in them how, how they writing still to be done after the kill, let it end and let me rest, let me do what I know best, to rip a stich from my neck and join these words all in heck.

To be no more is such my wish that my head be leveled on a dish to serve before the still warm hands as they write those who are all friends, to darkness sway and dead of night and yet onwards the letters write even after death has come ... they carry on they carry on ...

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