Cause I Almost Died Inside.
by : naekole


I had nearly given up writing, my only source of sanity, for the sake of those who watch and breathe my every move.
I've read tons of blogs, seen tons of writers, and all of them seemed so, flawed, so, disguised.

in reality, nobody wants to read an emo air head.
nobody wants to hear the rants of the broken heart, the cries of a suicidal maniac, and the screams of the mute.
they want the juicer pieces of life, they want the tasty sweat and tears of a high end princess/prince with the life that you fucking wish you had.



but that is never the case.

the happy isnt always the happiest, and sad isnt always the saddest i've seen.


im no writer, in fact, i rarely choose what i say.
i rarely filter them, and sugar coat them with ribbons and sprinkles.
im a hypocrite, a verbal diarrhea, spiraling into this wave of food poisoning.

i splurge the words of venom and hate, because i sincerely hate those who think life is ruined because of something so small and insignificant, like a strand of hair in their soup.



life is an obstacle, and the journey is fucking rough.

i nearly reached a dead end last night.

i called a suicide hotline...several suicide hotlines.

i begged for help.

i cried for help.

i spoke to them, and i realized, am i just like what i hate?
am i really making a big deal out of nothing?



i conclude, im not.
im just a stubborn ass who refuses to get help until its too late.




too many cuts have cried rivers of red.
i end this tonight.
xx