My Decadence

It is a matter of mental conditioning, of hating this gratuitous life. People decimate my value as a human being by judging me for what I am, not who. People address me as “Trish”, yet I see it only as a name to scorn and laugh at, a name everyone associates with my pathetic excuse of a being.
What kind of injudicious person thinks this life holds any meaning? I was once that fool, even now I could literally flagellate myself for trusting that the humanity in us all could save this world. Save it from society and this gradual decadence in regards to our stupid politicians, who run around organizing this place like headless chickens.
I admit, I studiously studied literature in a desired effort to find the answers perhaps somewhere within the utter bullshit of Blake, or Shakespeare. But, to no avail, of course. Oh, they write very pretty, but to me hold no substance, no detailed explanation for mans innate goodness, because there is no defined act of good.
What is the point in living when there is nothing to live for? Happiness is only a state of mind; this real world is the one we live in, a black fact of life I endure everyday. Pessimistic b*tch people could call me, but as a façade I cover this side of myself, paint it over, for to express these decimating thoughts is to degrade our dignified reputation as humans. No one questions our fictitious supremacy, our ability to destruct. We are mere beasts, our conscience a liability.
This life is not the prison; the real prison is the one that lies within my mind, where conscience batters against the forlorn walls of my self-imposed cage.
My sister Susan perceives me as her role model, an unpretentious idealist with a defined sense of right and wrong. It is a small cost and sacrifice on my behalf, for I will fail her in the plans to court my love affair openly towards death with the simple pop of a couple of pills.
A strange contradiction, wanting to die, to save and preserve the image of my world before it gets taken apart and shattered into fragments before my eyes. Already the rips and tears of my life can be heard, this fabric a thin partition between my death.
This bittersweet thing called life is a subjective experience, a biphasic progress broken apart into the years of blessed ignorance and the years of reality. I want to go back to believing in everything and knowing nothing at all, back to the times of innocence. Yet, it is too late now, for there is nothing stopping me from slicing these vulnerable wrists, for what point lies in lacerating my soul on the fallacious barbs of this life?
Desperately searching for common ground in this world, battling my way through society, hoping to find relics of mankind’s creeds and truths veiled behind lies. Have you ever opened your eyes and looked around, to search for the elucidating reason to your life, for the ultimate corruption of it? It is a whole range of aspects, and I shall transcend towards my answers in death for I do not belong here.

A fading image, a hopeless cause; death, is my only way out.