I don't know why I did it. I'm not sure why anybody does anything. I guess you could say I was tired. Tired of failing. I wanted power. I wanted revenge on those people--even though they had never harmed me. I wanted to drink their blood and soak up their pain. It's too late now. I'm in too far, over my head, drowning in my ocean of tears. I wish I could leave or at least have it be over. But I can't leave. Lifetime of servitude or death. There are times I think I would choose death. But I know in the black crevices of my dead heart I am too cowardly. I admire those that can give their lives for a worthy cause. Those who aren't afraid of death. Aren't afraid to do the right thing. I hope the they'll triumph. Those ones that don't give a second thought, those ones that don't care they could die. Those ones which would die before they kill another. I envy those ones. I wonder if things could have been different. If I could be one of those ones. People always say "Don't bother with the 'what if's.'" I try not to. But I want to learn from my mistakes. I want to know that if I could do it over I would do it right. But now, in my life, there is nothing but never-ending agony. Even if the war comes to an end the pain won't end. It never will. The longing to have done the right thing. The longing to give back the lives I took. I'm tired of my life but too afraid to sleep. Maybe if the war ends then I can end my life, on my own terms. Not a cowards terms. I can see the scene in my mind's eye. The calling river. Going somewhere--somewhere mystical, without pain. Somewhere with joy. I can see the blood on my hands washing off in that river. And I can see the pale skin of my left forearm, unblemished. And I can see that I am free.
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Disclaimer: Er--not sure I need one but I'm sticking one in so you can't sue me. I don't own Harry Potter or anything of the like. There.
A/N: This is one of my first non-poetry things so I would really appreciate it if you take the time to review it.