Shortcomings.

Dear Reader,

I wanted to warn you of everything before it got too late. I want to tell you how everything we ever say becomes parrallel to how what feel in the end. And all the words we meant just end up becoming regrets. I wasn't born this way. I was made this way. I want to tell you that just like them, you'll be another regret. I can't help but feel it.
When you're this far from heaven you can't help but feel like you belong to hell.
I'm telling you this post trauma because I didn't want to ruin the moment. I write these words to remind me to tell the next one...fuck it. There won't be a next one. I write these because it's not fair to you to let you go with out an explanation. I was a child turned wolf. I'm no longer wolf. I'm not even a man. I'm a shell stuck inside of a shell, inside of a shell.
When you're this far from heaven, you can't help but want to go to hell.
I'm staring at the sun one more time. This time I hope I go blind. This time I hope I really die. Heaven doesn't want me and hell doesn't need me. I don't need me.