The hand holding the pen shook violently above the paper. It was just the comedown, he told himself. The low after the high of the cocaine. He just needed something else, morphine maybe, and the pain would subside. Maybe he would finally sleep. Maybe he just wouldn't wake up. The idea seemed preferable to the hell he had brought on himself. However, this needed to come first. While he could still think. While he could still feel, before what he was doing to himself inevitably won out. The words needed to come out. They were owed that much. He kept trying. Just get it right, then maybe he could let go...
This pain, no drugs can chase away-
I tremble with doubt, I seethe with rage
As they laugh at me, the freak, in this mental cage-
But I bear it because I love you.
The self hatred, inside, grows stronger with time
The sadness, the empty, because you're not mine
I have so much I'm not proud of and
So much to hide
But I carry this because I love you
This darkness I wear, is me, in disguise
The man I show the world i have come to despise
The real me is lost now,
So very deep inside
I hide him because I love you.
So I'll rip myself open with pain and despair
I've fallen so far now, and am too sick to care
Because I know if I need you, you won't be there-
Now I'm barely alive
Because I love you
Tears smudged the final words. Sentiment. How dull he had become.
He had "filed" all the others in the flames of the fireplace. It was only fitting; after all - nothing stayed. Always burned. Why not his words too? He had allowed himself to love so very few things. They all left. By death or abandonment. Alone is what he knows. Sentiment is only found on the losing side. Something he should have learned long ago.
Sighing, he folded the paper and tucked it into a book lying on the desk. A book that wasn't his. Unable to cast it into the flames with the rest.
A reminder of what happens when you allow yourself to get attached.