What gives you the right. To choose how the story ends. To sadden all around you. To have the pride to think you can choose when you leave.
Then why do I hate. Hate the world around me. Hate the eyes I see with. Hate the face that holds them. Hate the mouth I speak with. Hate the arms I hold with. Hate the legs I stand with. Hate the body that keeps me. Hate the weakness I carry. Hate the strength I dream for. Hate the soul I have become. How do I know I am me?
How dare you take away my end I so deserve. So tell me why? Why should I not end it. What brings me to continue. And don't tell me because it's beautiful and fair. Because it have not been for me!
It may not be beautiful but that doesn't mean you should give up on it. Do you leave the table before finishing your meal?
You stay until you're finished and full. The same goes here. It may not be beautiful all the time but it is. And even if it's not you have to eat you share before you can be allowed to leave.
But what if I don't want my share. What if it's disgusting. Why should I continue to eat if the plate is full of rot.
Would you choose to starve when a mountain of food stands in-front of you?
I would rather starve than to hurt again. Rather rot then to say goodbye again.
But if you rot you must still say goodbye. What of the ones who still live when you choose to stop? What about the tears that will fall on the dirt above you? What of the ones who will never get to say their goodbye? Is it really your choice to rob them of you?
But there is none that will cry. None that will have to say goodbye.
How do you know?
Because I'm a two face liar who none loves. A soul yet untouched. Someone who can't be forgiven for what I've done. Someone who keeps going on even when others hate me. A soul that is tiered from waking up to the same old day.
But what of your mother? Your father? Your brother or sister? Your daughter? Your son? The ones who have been with you all this time. The ones who birthed you. The ones who baked you your pie. What gives you the right to say they don't love you.
...
Tell me-
Who are you? You claim to know me so well. How do you know?!
You know well who I am.
How would I know you? What is your name? Why do you pester me at a time like this? What have I done to you to give me such ridicule? You have no voice I know of. Nor a shadow I've seen. You posses no warmth of nostalgia nor a reason of hope. You resemble not my friends nor any of my kin. You claim to know me yet I have never heard your voice, seen your form or even smelled your scent once in this life. So I ask again. Who are you?!
And I will tell you again. You know who I am. You have known me for longer then you can remember. I have been by your side since your birth. I have witnessed your greatest accomplishments as well as your toughest battles. I have seen who you've become and I know who you were. Because I am the image in your mirror. I am the ground that holds you and the winds that guide you. I am your greatest ally. Your sworn foe. I am seen as dreadful yet I only know love. I will be with you and help you when your down. Yet I will see you when your body hits the ground.
... I know who you are.
You know who I am.
You are me. You are death.
So what gives you the right.
Nothing. But I...
Face me.
I can't.
Because you cower?
Because I regret. I hate and hate. Yet I feel unsure.
I understand. What you now choose will forever change you. No matter if you have the right or not. No matter who cries.
You choose the answer.
Have you eaten your share?
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