Limbo of Nothingness
I know I should worry a greal deal but I just don't. Apologies for what I've become will only do no good for I don't see myself changing into a better version any sooner; the version they rather want of me. And I, too, if I must admit sincerely. But my wanting hides behind the unconcerned nonchalance I display, for my countenance knows not what else to show when reality speaks to me ever so harshly. The wanting to be better I cannot grope, sadly, for it lies ever so deep within; so far away and I hear it call, but with the miles of depth, it whispers so thin. So faint the plea it sounds; so feeble the echo bounds.
Oh, how frustrating it is to be in my mind! A vast of emptiness and indifference resides.
So no, mesdames et messieurs. I shan't waste your time with words of earnest apologies. Though I would mean it so truly and genuinely, without action it's dreadfully useless. So nohow, you shan't hear a sorry from me. Not until I find the willpower to dive into the nothingness I've imprisoned myself in, down into the abyss where the faint voice has fallen; screaming to be heard, lashing to be free. But is it, though? Such a curious thing to ponder. Afterall, 'tis so dark, I cannot see; 'tis so far, I cannot hear. But with a great deal of hope, I dare pray I could meet her; bring her to light, and save me from this hell. The hell that I created. The hell that is my mind. When, I wonder? I know not.
But what's already been said: "I don't see it any sooner." Mayhap I shall die, stuck in this limbo forever.
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