And if to narrate is to live, then I'm on the right track, am I not?

But some words, dead words, lack a certain weight.

A sense of sluggishness and tiredness overcomes me. I feel like burning the sky, the houses, the faces, the trees, to burn them all down and dance in their ashes. It's been so long since I felt this, or rather, allowed myself to feel this way. Today, I let my guard down. Today, I let myself down. I let the people around me down. My facade, my fallacy slipped. It felt like I went back into four years ago, that despised and pitiful creature.

How can I hate that side of me so much, yet embrace it with such silent and twisted relish?

Nestled and protected in your arms, your womb, for all my life, but you never knew me, never saw me, never heard me. You don't know me. Am I a by-product of your foolish actions? Or have I paved the way to who I am today?

Funny how humans push the blame to everyone but themselves.

This descent the abyss, this talk about disappearing and nothingness, is this what I truly want? Have I ever wanted? Or craved for anything? It feels right, these salty tracks down my cheeks. Because everything else feels wrong, awry and stale.

What happens if you realise that whatever you have believed is only a dream, and the nightmare is only but starting?