There is no meaning to my life as of right now.
Was there ever any meaning to begin with?
Look at these ugly scars.
Ugly, ugly scars.
I hate the scars.
A scar is like a memory trapped in white, fleshy remorse.
What's the difference?
There is none.
What's the difference if I make another scar?
What's another ugly memory gruesomely etched into my mind, body, soul, spirit?
Another scar can't hurt.
Of course it will hurt.
Tell me, why would I remember this day if not for the pain and hate and hurt and anger?
There's really no point.
There's no saving me.
I'm a lost soul.
Would it really hurt if I took another swig from the bottle?
I doubt it would.
I think it might help this pounding that's resounding throughout my whole being.
Just make the pounding stop.
There's no point.
And the damn memories are coming back.
Of course, the pain comes with the memories.
So drown my sorrows in the bottle and forgot my useless past.
This life is pointless.
Drown it out.
There's nothing left for me.
Make it go away.
Make the scars invisible.
Make the hurt vanish.
Make the pounding stop.
Just fix me up.
And then tear me down again.
Drink away my problems
and then burn the bleeding wound.