"Do Ты wake up in the morning and need help to lift your head?"
He dragged himself out of bed, barely coherent, and fell back onto the covers staring at the cieling. Will today be the day?
"Do Ты read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?"
He slapped the newspaper down on the coffee table, afraid, and tormented by the lucky souls free to roam without burden. He put his forehead in his hands and sighed with the weight of the world crushing him, suffocating him.
"It's like living on a cliffside not knowing when you'll dive.
Do Ты know, do Ты know what it's like to die alive?"
It sat on his mantle staring him down like a beady eyed hawk. The black metal gleamed in the early morning light. The snub nose, the full supply of shots, the rough grippy handle.
The trigger, eagerly waiting to be pulled.
He forced himself to look away, forced himself to get dressed, walk out to door, walk into work, paste a happy smile on his face.today is not the day. No body can see the man inside, who dies a little еще with every breath he takes. The man who is struggling with the energy of keeping up the facade that has become his life. Non one can see that man. No one but the beady eyed hawk sitting on his mantle peice, waiting patiently for its turn.
"When the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black.
When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if Ты look back."
He stepped into his apartment, late. He glanced around. All the things that used to bring him joy were just symbols of his past. Shoving a stack of comic Книги to the floor he fell to the ground. Nothing mattered anymore. This world,his life meant nothing because he realized he had no one to live for. He was an empty shell by the beach, being constantly beaten by the harsh cold breakers washing in from the sea.
"You don't know.
I know Ты don't know."
Anger
Resentment
Regret
No one saw. No one knew. Not even his parents, his colleagues, his closest friends. They couldnt know. He never dropped a hint. He cant take this much longer.....
"The sensation that you're screaming, but Ты never make a sound...."
He staggered to his mantle, made a grab for the shelf. He saw everything clearer, heard little noises, felt the icy breath of death on his neck. This is the time, he knew it. He pulled the Холодное сердце trigger and took his last shuddering breath.
"the feeling that you're falling, but Ты never hit the ground.
It just keeps on rushing at Ты день by день by день by day.
Ты don't know, Ты don't know what it's like to live that way.
Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run.
If it gets me it will kill me, but I don't know what I've done."
He realized, as he watched his own blood pour from his head, he would see his parents again. His life literally flahsed in his mind. He was peaceful about his desicion, he was pleased his last emotion woudl be releif instead of the impenatrable Стена of anger and hoeplessness.
"you just don't know who I am..."
Well now, everyone does.
He dragged himself out of bed, barely coherent, and fell back onto the covers staring at the cieling. Will today be the day?
"Do Ты read obituaries and feel jealous of the dead?"
He slapped the newspaper down on the coffee table, afraid, and tormented by the lucky souls free to roam without burden. He put his forehead in his hands and sighed with the weight of the world crushing him, suffocating him.
"It's like living on a cliffside not knowing when you'll dive.
Do Ты know, do Ты know what it's like to die alive?"
It sat on his mantle staring him down like a beady eyed hawk. The black metal gleamed in the early morning light. The snub nose, the full supply of shots, the rough grippy handle.
The trigger, eagerly waiting to be pulled.
He forced himself to look away, forced himself to get dressed, walk out to door, walk into work, paste a happy smile on his face.today is not the day. No body can see the man inside, who dies a little еще with every breath he takes. The man who is struggling with the energy of keeping up the facade that has become his life. Non one can see that man. No one but the beady eyed hawk sitting on his mantle peice, waiting patiently for its turn.
"When the world that once had color fades to white and gray and black.
When tomorrow terrifies you, but you'll die if Ты look back."
He stepped into his apartment, late. He glanced around. All the things that used to bring him joy were just symbols of his past. Shoving a stack of comic Книги to the floor he fell to the ground. Nothing mattered anymore. This world,his life meant nothing because he realized he had no one to live for. He was an empty shell by the beach, being constantly beaten by the harsh cold breakers washing in from the sea.
"You don't know.
I know Ты don't know."
Anger
Resentment
Regret
No one saw. No one knew. Not even his parents, his colleagues, his closest friends. They couldnt know. He never dropped a hint. He cant take this much longer.....
"The sensation that you're screaming, but Ты never make a sound...."
He staggered to his mantle, made a grab for the shelf. He saw everything clearer, heard little noises, felt the icy breath of death on his neck. This is the time, he knew it. He pulled the Холодное сердце trigger and took his last shuddering breath.
"the feeling that you're falling, but Ты never hit the ground.
It just keeps on rushing at Ты день by день by день by day.
Ты don't know, Ты don't know what it's like to live that way.
Like a refugee, a fugitive, forever on the run.
If it gets me it will kill me, but I don't know what I've done."
He realized, as he watched his own blood pour from his head, he would see his parents again. His life literally flahsed in his mind. He was peaceful about his desicion, he was pleased his last emotion woudl be releif instead of the impenatrable Стена of anger and hoeplessness.
"you just don't know who I am..."
Well now, everyone does.
