Cheers to Homocide Pt. 2 (Comfortable)

   "You managed to focus your eyes. You found your blush that breaks my armor down.

   Surrounded by what we see, death and everyday
sightseeing. But if it weren't for this fragile mortal coil
you and I would still unknown.

   So raise a glass and toast for an end; toast for a chance to stay.

   Cheers to homicide!"


   Eventually I thought something like this would happen; people like to torture; they like to see things they dont want to see; ask questions they dont want to ask, and hear anwers they dont want to hear. We're like that, we like the pain sometimes and I know. I'm an expert in that field. For me though, it was, for a time, the only thing that made me feel like I was still here. It was never a physical pain, it was always an emotional burden which is much hevier than anythingyou can make dissapear with a couple of pills.

   Call us masoquistic, we can't help but like it.

   And so there are requests, there a few last favors to do and I comply. I agree with her that I'm not the same person I was some time ago and even more so that she cannot think of me in the same way. So her quote changes; her thoughts of me are directed in another direction, no more grace, no more pictures for me to fill my walls.

   I've chewed off the reins, I'm breathing a new air. She thinks I'm doing perfectly fine; she believes I'm the happiest individual in the world. I'm not. I'm just comfortable. Happiness is, once you've lost it, something you retrieve in time not a few weeks. I'm still jailed between this four walls; I'm still sitting on this God awful chair; I'm still lonely. But I'm comfortable.

   Comfortable enough, at least.