I know she’s sunk in her claws. It’s like a vice around my throat, constricting everything, until I’ve lacked breath for so long, that I think I must be gone.
I just want it to be done. I want to give up, and take the path that makes more sense to me. What am I bothering for?
That will always be the question, won’t it? How easy would it be for me? Would it be without thought? Without question? It certainly feels that way sometimes.
I have nothing left to lose but my reservations, my need to succeed. So tell them the truth, won’t you? Why won’t you really die?
Because you can’t stomach the thought of losing without a fight?
Or maybe it’s because I can’t stand the realization that I’ve allowed it to poison me to this point. Reality is what it is, will not change. So why must you let it drain you so? Are you that weak that you cannot filter out this one, tiny thing?
They say the truth hurts. Oh, doesn’t it? I’ve yielded, like a dog, and I hate myself for it. I am weak, stupid, and pointless. I know it. I accept it. I have made myself what I am. Purpose is not real and true, but fabrication. I believe in it at times, and the reasons why are clear to me now. I need it. I need it like they need it, even if the meaning is different.