In a way, feeling bad, is feeling good. Or would you rather pretend?

I want it to hurt. So it gets stronger.
Who will understand this laughter?

Why do you not fear?

I am as human as you are, but we all create our own values.

The paved path through the woods.
Overgrown flowers sprout and conceal.
Leafless trees are weeping.

The cuts form my texture.
The lines form my crescent.
My wounds created me.

They know, the saw is not the sword of justice.
They hum; "Have we not suffered enough?"
They chant; "Is it love you seek?"

I can't figure out what is worse. Being forced into life or choosing to die.

Believing it.

I don't, not anymore. You make no sense at all.
Bloated, I've gone to balloon heaven.

Question it.

I get it now. You don't want to see. One side of the story is enough.
Especially when it is backed by the higher order. By what people call the normality.
It's not about knowing it. It's about it making sense.
Nowadays, nothing makes sense.

I'll be leaving this place happily. To a place where I will truly meet myself.