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Letters

Letter 9 | The Dark Diary

21/8/17

Right now, I am feeling not to talk to anyone in Here. I was always hurt by the fact that people just need to powerless the person, who feels different from them. I can’t help them. I can’t help myself. I never need people. I need a person to know that the person is never away from me.

I slept well last night after getting some pain from people I trusted. Why do I speak if I know that my words shake each inch of a person’s mind, body, and soul? Because I care. I am counting days in wait. I am waiting to hear your voice and rest in your arms.

House flies around me are making me feel that I should not worry seeking is waiting and waiting is patience for me. The process has started. Old foundations should never forget that they will become weak and vulnerable enough to get dust soon enough. I would not say that I am hard to break but the breaking point is hard to find now. I have learnt to live in the present. I enjoy what is happening. The past was there to become a teacher, the present is here to become the past and future is here to execute both at once. They made me shave my facial hair and saw me so scared that they started showing. What they can be with me. Who needs to get intoxicated if a person is like me. Each feeling is a high and duration of that high is unpredictable. Trying to make me a man of their choice and they don’t even know their choice. I need rest but if I rest then my patience is gone.

I think I will write for after a few hours. I want to lie down on my bed. I can’t become unstable in Here. I will never see freedom’s sin again that I fear.

I tried to rest for a while. I could not. I talked for a while with a new inmate, smoked and lied down. He told me that I had no symptoms of an addict like others. Even after staying in Here, he could see that I had been wrongly taken by people. What I had to do to stay alive I did. I admit that I have taken pharmaceutical drugs, abused them, made scars on my skin and soul, forced people to leave me, hate me, tried to see through other’s eyes, manipulated myself and forced myself to live with the feelings I could not stand. Just to stay alive.

Fuck this staying alive thing. If I have to live like the way I am living their why I am caring about people who could never try to understand me. Is this the supreme virtue of being human for these humans? I need to be out anyhow.

Then, I will force, manipulate, destroy, create and feel I should. I am done with these people, dear. Why can’t they accept that I am not made for their world? My life is something and almost beyond their understanding. No more.

While on bed I thought that when I will out of Here. Then, I will fight with their tools. I want to see them on their knees. Even if my family asks for all this. I want to live the way I am. Walk with me, Deathra.

I had fear in me in Here if anyone read what I write then what would things turn to, but I don’t care now. If I die, someday, my words will tell people what I have gone through. I will disobey every goddamn illusion I made about my gods i.e. my family mark my words, my love, everything has to change and that change will come by me or by the people like me.

I need the pain of people who are victimized like me. By caging a change, does not change the change because the knows the cage will change and it will be free to just change. I am already dying and my death will not change the facts, but one day I will be back either to destroy or save.

Come and dance with me tonight. You will be wearing a purple dress and I will be in white and black. The will take the course. Let’s make a beautiful moment for a beautiful daughter.

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