Shhh. Do you hear the sound of the dazzling white noise floating through the room at this very moment? Cooling me so effortlessly as I am here sitting up on a bed that is not one I can call my own. Loneliness strikes me as something I must learn to defeat, and by defeat I do mean learn to embrace it as a friend. A friend with no hands, no arms, no legs, not even a bosom that can hold a heart that would beat. Lifeless, like my own life at times like this; we could be good friends at times like this.

–

Do you hear the silence? It's a beautiful silence, but it allows my thoughts to ravage through my head like death, making me want to die. But, I refuse to die because it would be the greatest failure to myself, to allow my own self defeat nothing but a demon that merely exists within the temples of my own body. It's nothing more than a thought, or merely a feeling that is immoral, wrong, not logical.

–

And, seldom I must think, is it really worth fighting for? What a frontal lobe lobotomy would do for a person such as I. O, woe is me! My problems are nothing but jealously and anger at the mere sight of supposed wrongdoings. Perfection? Ha! What is perfection in my mind but being alone. Alone is my perfection, but I cannot stand it. I cannot stand being alone. I would rather die that ever have to be alone by myself for all of eternity. I can only pray my time will be worthwhile for I am a being that contradicts itself. Dichotomous, strange, a freak of nature.

–

I shall not blink, for blinking will erase all my past. I'm so tired of apologizing, because it won't do a thing as the reassurance only will worsen. I'm sorry for this, I'm sorry for that. Let me be who I am for once and let me be free! I no longer wish to feel sick in the heart, in the mind. I just want to be human again, like when I was a child. When things did not matter. I can only help my humbleness can set forth the path to my own demise, quick and sudden. Let my life have purpose, but let it be short enough so that I must not have to live through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that good Sir Hamlet himself so much as suffered over. Poor Ophelia, how I would long to comfort her. But, even then, with all her beauty and serenity would I still find a fatal flaw. A fatal flaw which comes to me not by choice, but with the intent of destroying my very being.

–

I'm sick of TVs and computers and books and pens and clothes and people and everything, because it's merely nothing more than a means to an end for my own inner mishaps. I can't stand being alone, I want to love, I want to need, I want to want, but for everything I wish for, my mind creates its own antithesis. Let nature have its way with me. Let them pull the needles from the rats and test me, with hopes they can make me a little more human. Frankenstein's monster only knew so much pain as I, and he himself was no monster, but a man that is like myself: nothing more than a man full of mistakes. I'm sorry for the mistakes I make, for I know not why I feel the way I feel inside about anything and everything. I just know I wish I could be a little more normal, mentally anyways.