I sit here alone in the prison I created,
Contemplating death,
Wondering if it would change anything,
If anyone would notice I was gone.
I realize I have been living a lie,
Pretending to be someone,
I never could be.
I never wanted to be.
Just so I could bear the pain,
That I faced each and every day.
Being different has that effect on you,
Ridicule, pain, and the hatred,
The hatred of everyone who pretends to be different,
But they're all the same.
They hate you.
They laugh at you.
They mock you.
Never caring if they hurt you,
As long as they look good in others' eyes.
But who wants to live in others eyes,
Who wants always to be judged?
Why can't we love each other,
For who we are,
Not who we pretend to be?
No,
Always the laughter,
Always the hate.
Maybe death is the answer.
But don't they say that death is the final judgment,
And isn't death pictured as a laughing skull?
Will there ever be peace?
Will the pain ever end?
Did I even put a bullet in this gun?
Note:
While there were times when I was suicidal, this wasn't actually one of them. When I wrote this I was actually relatively happy with myself but I was remembering when that wasn't always the case.
