Thanks for your care.

I'm left numb.

Silenced.

Nowhere to write but here with no readers, ever.

I didn't want an audience but I didn't want nothingness.

This is a void.

Avoid all signs of discontent, bestow upon ourselves merry hats and fix our grins.

My tear, just one, has run down my face, over my chin and has made my neck wetter than seems possible for such a small drop of emptiness.

It was the emptiness that killed him, the absence of himself.

He looked and found he wasn't there, well but for some memories and a crushing, horror, pain.

The emptiness took hold, the way that nothing does for nothing is more deadly than any thing with its murderous absent stare.

And still the rosy checked merriments are following me, pressing me to remove, cut and censor all my SHIT.

For it, my only place to flee, to express myself may scare the children and people of a nervous disposition.

So I'm silenced. No longer can I moan that I feel lonely, sad and needing, it hurts the readers eyes to think of me suffering when I write harsh words.

Words, the string from which I was suspended, cut. Let me fall into the void, avoid me now why don't you.

Ain't the world a tidier place now.

I'm left hanging with your care.

A thin string from me to the ceiling, I may be swinging slightly in a dark space.

I can't see the floor, slightly sickening. Quite some time ago, days perhaps weeks, I heard the last cry of joy. Joy faded away, a sound too faint to hear, gone now.

The ground may not be there. If I had a pair of scissors perhaps I'd enjoy the falling. We cling to the hope of things, and rationally, delving deep the pointlessness seems the only certainty and gradually the inescapable becomes inevitable. The insane apparently rational.

Vertigo, that's something to hold on to, let's rejoice. I want to cut the string if only if weren't for the planet below - just to keep on falling.