This world plays trick on me. It is all just a trick they played on me. She's not dead, She is in there somewhere, I hope. I'll tell myself that everyday those words will make me win this battle against myself. Everyday it gets worse, the denial, the remorse. She is dead isn't she? the real me?
Yeah, she is definitely dead if she was alive she wouldn't let me live like this. Her memories are pain to me the thought that she may never come back again impales me again and again, until all that was crushed inside has now become the slither of life inside me. I write my thoughts in this old diary of mine because I don't have the willpower to cry anymore. I have created enough salt beds under my eyes..
I'm afraid to get out of bad because pieces of her soul haunt me everyday...
What do I do now?...