A/N: Yet another poem style fic in Vegeta's POV, very suicidal... You have been warned!
Also, a big thanks to Phsycomaniac for the reviews!
My Solace:
I wish for the chains that bind me too be broken.
I wait for the day I will finally be able to walk alone.
To dream of falling without stopping signals depression.
Comical, I dream that all the time. It is true, I realize.
I'm scratching at my arm to see if I receive a reaction.
It seems as though I have non-existent pain receptors; I feel it, but its not truly there.
I am listening to muse on my stereo player,
I love the way the final song depresses me so much more than I already am.
It is bleeding now. My arm, were I attacked it.
I do not wince. Pain is just another thing designed to slow me down.
Does life have a purpose?
Be born. Come of age. Car. Job. Marry. Die.
Life is different for everyone, they say.
If you analyse it and break it down, they are all the same. How stupid.
What is the point of life if everything is all the same?
Why not die early and get it all over with? I wish I could.
It is 7:30. It is raining outside, as well as being dark.
I have the window open and the door is shut. No lights on. Just how I like it
People tend to leave me alone when I come up here.
They seem to know I like it. Being alone, that is.
When it rains, I wish to walk for hours alone;
My chains prevent me from doing so.
I love looking out of the open window when it is dark or twilight. Especially if it is raining.
That way I can dwell out my life, let my thoughts wander to death.
I wish to leap out of that window. Not to fall; but to fly.
Feel the wind in my hair. Enveloped in black sky and rain. To cry as I do so.
That is my ultimate solace. However, I cannot fly or even cry for that matter.
When I want to cry. I cannot. I just get angry and my tears never fall.
When I am alone, I am always depressed. It is who I am.
In front of others, I have behind a mask; vicious, sarcastic... happy?
I am never truly happy. I have to many questions and thoughts to be the latter.
Always wanting to know why I am the way I am. Why does my life revolve around others?
I would be dead now if it was not for them. If I could loose them. But I cannot, unfortunately.
People would be sad. Even I am not that selfish, believe it or not.
How ridiculous; my friends and family, people who I want nothing to do with.
They are both my captors and my saviours. Without them, I am dead, with them here, I am forever trapped.
When I have left, when I am disowned is when.
Some of them already hate me. In a few years, I will be free.
I feel so depressed now, my scratch is bleeding I mangled it so hard.
I want more of them. More insufficient pain.
It is a my small substitute for death. Some insignificant scratch.
Something whose pain is only momentary, not forever lasting.
I prefer to scratch my self rather than use a blade.
Less suspicious. Easier. More painful.
Sometimes I truly wonder why the hell I am the way I am.
What shoved me over the edge? So called friends and family deserve no mention
In a way I am like this off my own accord. In other ways I am not
I do not want others to suffer. Otherwise, I would have killed. Moreover, I would be gone.
My friends want to fix me to no avail.
My family want to know why. I push them all away.
All I want is to be alone, and I suppose I am, in my mind, at least.
Come to think of it, I always have been. In addition, from what I have seen. I know I always will be.
Strange. I want to cry now but I cant.
I will have to make do with writing this and pounding the hell out of the wall instead.
Depression can be a beautiful thing. As well as dangerous.
Kind of like a rose. A lot like me. Curious to look at, but get to close, and your dead.
I wish for the cold night air to swallow me up.
After I am done with this, I am going to stare out the window again. Dwell on my thoughts some more.
That is a bad thing, you know. For me to dwell on my thoughts for to long.
Delve in to far, and I will be a lost cause.
I think I am already to far gone to receive help now anyway.
To depressed. To suicidal. To far gone.
That is right. I crave death, something that has been denied me far to long
I still have to wait it out though. Not yet, not until I reach my solace.
Some times, the only thing visible to me is the end.
The only thing I really want. The only god dam thing I can't fucking well have.
I am wondering now; what happened to me?
The answer is simple. Nothing happened: I was always like this since birth.
Even as a child, I thought death a wondrous and beautiful thing
No one was the world the way I did and always will. No one can see through my eyes.
My scratch has got a load of scab stuff on it. Lovely.
At least I can sleep knowing I caused my self some small discomfort.
I just took my jacket off. I got too hot, even in the darkness.
I love the feel of something cool against my skin. Another part of my solace.
I have recently begun to wonder what it is like to be loved. (Not family love)
I would like to find out before I leave.
You know, I think Kakkarotto will outlive us all.
In his own way, I think he realizes what I am, even if he does not see it himself.
I will never tell anyone about myself though.
They will all find out when I am gone. I will request it.
Hell, I know I am going to die in a few years.
Ha! I said it! It is true though; I will. I intend too.
Even I myself do not like the sound of that too much.
Over the years I have embraced it.
Soon I am going to die
Not an accident or murder
I shall die by my own hands.
The final freedom.
I will reach my solace
Death my gateway
I intend to commit suicide.
However, do I really want to die? No. No I do not.
All I request is my unfound solace...
Without it I am stuck here, with it, I am dead.
The opposite of my friends and family.
Will I ever reach my freedom. Maybe.
Heh, yet some how I doubt it...