Popped out.

If i could just stop existing without dieing, i would have popped out of existence already.  But unfortunate enough there is no possible way to be. I am just tired.  I haven't even lived a full life but i am already exhausted with everything.
Tired of talking to stupid people,  of being normal, of thinking, of having to be something,  of trying, of feeling, of fighting, of letting go, of choosing between good and necessary evils, of accepting, of trashing, of speaking, of listening, of caring, of not caring, of everything. Because it gets tiring to be too much of one thing and being less of another.  If i could just be in a corner and stare at nothing,  let leaves fall, rain drop, ants cross by and do nothing but breath while my brain shuts into blackness. Stop. Shut up. Get out. I'll let the precious man made time to tick away and pass because seconds of minutes of hours doesn't even exist. Lucky bastard. You know i feel my heart beating now and i don't blame it for doing a good job, but my soul, i feel it leaving me, floating in mid air. Just floating.
You know how we take time off and escape everything behind for a while but then you still get back to reality. And that is inescapable. I don't want to get back every time i escape. I am escaping because there's no point to the word if i go back and return. Even to the memories of being a kid with no responsibilities i can't return, because then i have to remember being a kid left to face her very own demon by herself. You'd think it's our demon that would want us to quit, you'd never blame the angel. The angel that keeps whispering through sufferings. The demon that watches through sufferings. Nuances.
Poke me with something sharp and i bleed same time with the wound. And i am tired of others and myself poking the same wound over and over again. This is your fault brain, you've grown too cognizant of every little details, even the most moronic, even when it doesn't matter, you just have to understand everything don't you?  You self inducing pain bastard.
I have always imagined and reminded my good old self of how much i shouldn't care and how much i can be unshackled. But the problem is, the times i phrase that i don't care are the times i hurt because i am a fucktard lier. So if i stop existing, nothing to care about. Nothing to fight. Nothing to let go. Just nothing. You know what i like wearing everday? A full on fuck you mask. Makes me look like i actually don't care. Fuck you world. Fuck you stupid people. Fuck you society. Fuck you pain. Fuck you life. Fuck you noli. You're a lier.
Even if i close my eyes, cover my ears and empty my brain does nothing if not magnify. Nothing really works.
Now i don't know how to end this because after the last word and the period it never really ends.
I guess that is just it, it never ends.

Kid as i was.

"The pillow feels soft on my cheeks. I am not sure how long i was staring at this wall.  I should not make any sound, they're just downstairs.  They think i am asleep,  well there are alot of things they think i am,  like insubordinate, or worthless. They're not really creative,  they just come up with the most obvious. I should just be sleeping, but i keep thinking of everything.  This day was so usual, ordinary, they laughed at me and called me names.  The old ones.  I did my best to ignore them and keep what little space i have and make sure i'm unnoticed so they wouldn't look at me. I am triumphant,  i am home now.  My chest hurt,  like a hollow cold spiky stabbing pain.  And my eyes are wet and puffy,  i suppose i am used to the usual antics of everyday but the shock is the hurting in the chest seems to get worse everytime. And it is always here in front of this wall,  with this pillow yet again wet, and always in this dim light,  by myself.  I can hear thier noise downstairs and thier laughter.  It makes the the stabbing more painful.  I'll just sleep,  please let me sleep. Please. "
I will always remember this kid that i was.