I'm scared.

I want to die. And I don't like living like that. I hate my thoughts because they are jagged mosaic pieces. And when put together in my head, they don't make much of a pretty picture. I want to love him again and I want to be lost in him again. I want to be aware. Oh how I want to be aware again. I'm anxious to die, to just get this all over with. All of it. living failing dying. I want it now. Anticipation isn't fair. I want to stop breathing, cease. Just so I could blink and open my eyes and see something new. Feel something new. I'm shaking in the inside. I'm losing my strings that are tethering me here. I speak. I fall. I eat. I consume. I steal. I lie. I sleep. I dream. I think. I am bored with it, exhausted of it. I'm worn out. And done for. Like that vintage tshirt you push in the washer with the jeans just so it will get worn out faster, more soft. I want to die, to escape. To be released.