Im not hopeful
Im not eager
and I'm not even satisfied.
I was just convinced
Eventually, you will not get up. One day, you'll lay there all day. You will not check your phone, you will not shower, you will not do your work, and you wont clean. You'll eventually get up, clean the house, and restart the process. It hurts. It doesn't feel real for everyday to be the same. Even if you smoke, drink, do anything risky, it still feels the same. You need something more. What do you have left? You've lost the ones you love. You've lost yourself. Really, whats there left? Grow up and get a job, worry about bills, and still be plagued by these painful thoughts that you'll never be able to get past. You've lost him. And you've lost any reason you may have had. You don't even have enough energy to put more effort into this. After hours of ignoring everyone, and tidying your house, you'll think again for the last time about what to do. You think about how long it would even take for anyone to find your body. You think about the amount of people who would rejoice over your death. How shameful.
Everything is covered in white, snowflakes lingering down from the sky. Yet the innocence is broken by the crimson, slowly spreading further and further like poison. It's dripping down from the black sword, the cause of this broken balance. It turns the love from the curled up body into poison, letting it flow out from the deep wound. But even if the flame in the body is dying out, the crimson doesn't turn into hatred even once. It's still loving, letting the sword slowly shape it into anything it likes.