You are not me...

I, for now, just for this moment, wish to die. I wish not to be the tormented for one more moment, not any more. I wish to see him, not me, no more. The pristine example of irony poking my existence is something that you will feel for. A dead man is a dead man. And once he is dead, he is left with no qualms for anything. I, being in a state of lucid torment while trying to comprehend both sides of black and white, find the joy of the dead much more alluring. And for no reason at all, today I wish to tell you that the purple haze exists, on the other side.

I can see my white face without the crisps and wrinkles caused by mere human emotions. I am not human, not anymore. I do not know what I am. I do not have a name for it. It is not necessary. Yet I know I have a privilege, which you didn't have. I can feel for you, while you could just feel your own pain, and perhaps grow more wrinkles. You cried and cried but no one seemed to understand or even listen. Whoever did, couldn't do anything to make you feel any better, the way I feel now. I don't have to cry, not for myself. I don't need to laugh, not on myself. But I would like to speak, just speak with myself. I would like to forget you, and everything yours. I am not fed up. I need a fresh mind. I wish to transcend into my other life, an existence which doesn't even exist for you. Blessed I am. You are not me...