I can't remember. Those forgotten drawings. The reason why. I can't remember.

Unfinished pieces of me. Jarring and incomplete. Always incomplete. No matter how many strokes I add, I can't fill up the gap.

I just want to drown myself out in senseless music. Not caring what others around me are saying. I just want to detach myself and slowly kill this "self".

Is there a way for me to lose all my memories? Could I lose all my memories and restart? Could I at least mentally end this. I just want to restart and forget about things like beauty, intelligence or being in this rat race. I want to forget who I am sometimes, forget that I am "existing".

"There is no point turning around. It's just you and me here."
"But you are me.."
"Yes indeed."

An ugly and terrible feeling insidiously violates my being.

It tears away the mask of nonchalance I've built and mocks me for my pretence at detachment. Stripped of the last "beauty" with which I insisted on persisting, I am faced with the monster with which I have always seen in the mirrors.

This grotesque emotion, so tragically a part of my self. I seek to swallow it and smile. Even as a I do so, it seeps from the corners of my mouth, turning my words into a sneer.

I am surely and most positively a human.

I watched as she fell into chaos.
None could approach her in that state.
No control required, she fell into delirium.
And all I could do was watch as who I once knew shattered.

On nights like this, the feeling creeps back.

On a perfectly clear night, it is moonless.
The night is a canvas of black blankness.
It stretches and covers me in it's oppressive emptiness.
Is the moon finally terrified of lighting this darkness?

My eyes wander though I know sight cannot hope to penetrate this night.

There's no hope for solace in this abyssal despair. Not a soul breaths in this darkness that even evil refuses to inhabit.

All alone, I shudder, letting go of the last hold on sanity. Like a maniac, I tear my soul into irrecoverable pieces. More and more the filth consumes the small hope I carried.

No right to hope nor cry, I am one with the void.

If this is love then surely I am dying. 

I try to stop the feeling from welling up. My vision blurs and all I can think about is the rising sensation.

The sensation culminates in a dry heave.

I shudder, wondering if this sensation is a rejection of my being.

The echoes of darkness close in.

If one is to give false hope, then remember to hide the void behind.
For the baited would be swallowed by this vacuum of despair once they see the truth.

Back in this little space of mine, I share a whisper which trembles and breaks in to tears. The words I say jumble and tangle with each other. In this chaotic sprawl, can you see the melancholy that binds it all in a fragile demeanour?

I wonder when is it that I started viewing love as a disease. It has become an emotion that I loathe and wish to cleanse from my system. No matter how many times I try to cure myself, I will always be the diseased. The faster I run, the more vehemently the disease hits back at me. I scream hoping to get it out of my system but it's all futile. Fate only taunts at this pathetic human emotion of mine.

Searching in the abyss for a piece that I've lost,
I know the futility of my actions for this abyss is a piece of me.
Painfully aware, I continue to dig deeper into the abyss.
So deep that I wonder if I'll ever remember what I was searching for.