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To the ones who scream in silence
I’ve just never been good with choices. Don’t appreciate them. Don’t care for them. Would rather not be presented with one.
I lift my hand, about to pull at my skull. Sometimes, I wish I could smash it against the nearest wall and watch as everything spills and shatters. Once and for fucking all.
“Because I’m fucked up.” His voice sounds like death’s lullaby, anguished and shattered. “Because I look at myself in the mirror and get the urge to shatter it to pieces. Because I’ve been haunted by the bitter taste of nausea and self-loathing for so long, I don’t know how to live without them. I was doing fine, pretending and putting on a façade, so why the fuck did you ruin that? Why did you come into my life and destroy every wall I built and ruin every lie I told myself? Why do you touch me like I’m beautiful? Why don’t you hate me when I can’t stand my-fucking-self?”
“Of course I would. I’m his twin brother. What’s the use of being labeled a genius if I couldn’t save the one person who matters?”

