The things that matter.
I can't seem to handle the things that allegedly matter in life. And god damn I just about called it quits at 18, and I'm an honest woman.
All I get called is a liar.
And no one will understand when I am gone. That's just how it goes, everyone pretends to have only seen the good. Not the sadness when you're all alone in your head or the darkness that rims souls.
And if actions speak louder than words, then my gaunt eyes and torn skin should be the most defining thing that you have ever heard.
But it seems that all of the worlds eyes have fallen out, so they haven't got a point of view. Only loudly voiced opinions on matters that they cannot see.
Oh, tragedy. How I have never felt the need for love, books have always been able to fill that void. And I'll be forced to face the fact that I'm just fine.
But I'm not. My ideals and points of view on life are so twisted that only the ones that have themselves been broken seem to show empathy. And now I know that it's too late
And it tears me up. Not even my family has seemed to take note of my slow detachment from life. And sooner, rather than later, I will be gone.
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