In the edge of the world

I am running to the edge of the world. Running to a very lonely place, where there is no one to look at, no one to talk to.

I am crossing the line of boredom and apathy. It matters not. Not anymore. People can't see the pain hiding behind my eyes. People can't understand my actions. It matters not. I am running to the edge of the world... alone! All alone!

I am the pain of lonelines and the loneliless in pain. Who am I?! What the fuck am I?! Nothing, but ash and dust; nothing but dust and ash.

I have been struggling with my feelings and with my need to write / type anything down. It took my almost one month to face the reality of the death of a friend (I cried when I got the new, I have cried in the funeral, but not I am realizing that I'll never ever see him again). It took me a lot of struggling to be able to sit down, quiet and peacefully, listening to my precious artists (or to some of them) and to finally managing to write down anything. It took me so much pain and despair and even later on, I don't have any guarantee that I will be able to write any poem or anything at all.

I am running to the edge of the world. And the edge of the worl is a very lonely place. It's even lonelier when we choose our own loneliness.

Let me vanish in the night and to sing my sad lullabies.

I'll turn into the God I dreamed I was. Once in a while, they're still living and praying in front of old temples and statues. Once in a while, they're still looking for my comfort. The same comfort that I am unable to give to myself. But, once in a while, they're still seeking for my own despair. They want as much pain and despair as they can get, so that they can get the feeling of being alive. This is kind of a very masochist way of living, but that is what I do to myself. Why would be my characters any different of me?!

And my poetry?! What about the feelings I continuosly say that I despise, such as love, but I keep writing about them?! May this be what I am unconsciously seeking?!
I am running to the edge of the world. I am vanishing. I feel lost and trapped on a very evil and twisted game. Maybe, somewhere in this cosmos or in any other dimension, a very, very mean God is playing twisted games, testing His Holy colours or pens.
I am running to the edge of the world and soon I might fall into the great and dark abyss.