ikaw
I’m not happy with my life. Why do I have to be in this situation. This I don’t like. Eversince I was born into this fucking world, I don’t feel good. I’ts not into my liking. Problems are always getting on my way. This problem I have buried inside the depths of my soul, surprisingly it’s rising to the top. Damn life!
I tried to fight, to the length of my knowledge and strength: it didn’t worked. I tried to ignore things: sometimes it dies but there is always something left behind. More often than not, it becomes bigger, until I can’t handle it, then it explodes.
Life is so deceitful. Every person you meet along the way, it’s either they are here to help you. Or put you down. The latter is common. Shit! They bear a smiling face,when in fact, they’re wolves. Taking time to discover your weakness then to attact you. Mostly at your back. These person are unworthy of my trust and honesty.
Karma, you know that right? It sounds bad to me. Like a curse. I want to see it as good karma, I failed to recognize the good side of it. It’s like I’m cursing you all for contributing that hatred I’m feeling now. You can’t blame me for what I’m feeling. You brought me to this state. I tried to stop, be humble all the time, be friendly for all. But what have you done? You poisoned my mind, my being me.
When I wake up each day, feeling sore, I can’t think of nothing but to end my life. Anyway it’s boring. No one cares. I still have my family, and my love. In fact my parents are not divorced. I have siblings, and friends. If I’m going to weigh my problems with the ones who supports me, who knows I can do it, who knows I can fulfill my dreams, who knows I am better than nothing, who knows me inside out, it’s not enough. The pain inside me is uncomparable. You can never tell how much I have inside. God knows. I even ask His ways, why me? I got no answer. I want to ask Him why when I die. I can’t take my life now. He gave it to me. Only He can take it away. Amen.
I want to see light on my dark days. I’m still hoping things will go smoothly. Someday, somehow. But when is that? When I’m left with a half of respect for myself?
–COPIED AND PASTED–
