11:40PM, 21 September 2019.

I would never imagined I would be half cried; both of my eyes started releasing a liquid with a cigarette burning between my left fingers. At a time, sometimes both of my hands squeezing my forehead as it would squeeze my pain out to the pavement in front of me.

That’s the thing about it. No one heard me. In exact sense, I didn’t speak up because none if them or even myself wanted to heard or simply to understand.

I wish, I could finally said what I am having right now but none of myself truly understand.

Around 10PM, I’ve asked my high school friends what meds make me die in one go. I’ve asked my twitter friend also. But they simply didn’t helping. Because obiviously, they wouldn’t. For at least they didn’t want me to die, technically.

I am officially, tired. I am not depressed nor sad. I am nowhere lonely nor lack of anything. Everything just perfect. But like I said, I am tired; with myself, with everything. I feel used, I feel lame and I am sorry.

I am wishing something.

I wanted myself back.