12-04-2008, 02:33 AM
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Yeah,
he said.
And he was cold, and he was numb, and he was scared because he knew that there would be no one to change it this time. No one to tell him no or to take away the knife because the only friend he had was the one sticking him with poison. He was scared because he was happy, because the happiness felt empty, because it wasn't really happiness or acceptance or peace or anything else that it maybe should have been. He wasn't relieved. He wasn't any slightly positive emotion he could attach a name to. Nothing would change with death. Nothing except he wouldn't be breathing anymore.