Hamsterific12777

The noise, it’s everywhere, I can’t escape it, I want to escape it, but I can’t, not even in my own room, there is and always will be noise, Either late 20th century music, or death metal, or some western artist, by God, i want it to stop! Then there are the shouts, sometimes directed to me, a lull is hidden in it, only I can hear, it tells me that I might as well kill myself, die, die, die, die,die. i want to, I’ve wanted to, for so long, but I cannot, I will not, if they’d dispose of me as they do dead cats, maybe, hell is a great big area anyway, but funerals are expensive, depression scarring, therapy price

(I didn’t correct the mistakes on purpose, it’s for a reason) That cross stitching on the wall, it must go out, but it can’t go out. Mother would be displeased. I usually love it, enjoy it, the beautiful piece of art my mother poured over to finish, yet she says she doesn’t know of the art of art. What lies, it is beautiful. Today however, I want it gone, away from this room, it’s like the putrid stench of rotten meat in a room filled with flowers. It doesn’t belong, it needs to go, has to, or I’ll feel the need to be… to be not me come over again. Not me… not me isn’t like me at a