Destroy Me
Paranoia, the Destroyer
Shhh!
Talk quiet they’re listening to every single word you say. Would you believe that? Every goddamn word that comes out of your mouth.
They say I’m paranoid and that makes me laugh, but not too loudly. Remember? I told you they’re listening! They don’t like the way I laugh, one of them tells me it’s too loud, the other says that it’s not okay to be happy, and that I’m laughing at jokes about myself. They tell me not to laugh so I don’t. They tell me not to speak so I don’t. I don’t even know if my voice still works.
I don’t do conversations anymore, and notes are much too conspicuous. I’m sure that at least one of them can read. I’m not dumb enough to send letters to anyone, and if I did, no one would read them. They’d ridicule me for the things I say and the words I use. I hope that you don’t, but I’m sure that you probably will. I have to tell someone about these things. The things that keep tabs on my every movement. They count my breaths too. Wanna bet they don’t? Go right ahead and ask them. They won’t talk back. They think you’re going to make them go away. They’re telling me to stop, but I can’t. I have to finish this.
You think I’m crazy don’t you? It’s okay. I don’t mind. I like me. And I never say anything mean about myself. At least, I don’t think I do. But I’m sure that you do, but you just don’t understand. I’m different as you can tell, but you don’t care why. You see when I was younger... Oh it doesn’t matter anyway, I know you’re not listening anymore. I think I’ll keep this going though. It’s nice to pretend someone cares.
I’m sure that if you were listening as closely as they were, you’d want to know who they are. I’d like to know too. I just know something or someone is watching everything that I do. I don’t know who it is, or where they’re from, or how they’re watching but I’m absolutely positive that they are. Watching that is. I don’t know what they want with me, or how they go into my house, all I know is that they talk to me through my walls. The things they say aren’t very nice. They tell me to kill myself almost everyday. I’m thinking about it.
I think that dying might be nice. I bet it would be quiet. People always describe death as a peaceful thing, and I’d like to experience a peaceful sleep. One without them listening to me. One day I’m going to hold that pretty little Smith and Wesson up to my head and shut the voices up. One day, just when you think I’m getting better, I’m going to put a new little air hole in my head. And it will great, but until then, they’re just going to keep screaming at me.
They say paranoia’s the destroyer. And they're right. It makes people close themselves off. I can’t help it. I’m going to shut back down now. I’m tired of you saying I’m crazy. I’m tired of them telling me you’re only going to hurt me, like I don’t already know. I know you’re going to tell everyone I’m a bat shit crazy lunatic. But it’s okay, I’ll be gone soon. One day. One day.
BAM!
Talk quiet they’re listening to every single word you say. Would you believe that? Every goddamn word that comes out of your mouth.
They say I’m paranoid and that makes me laugh, but not too loudly. Remember? I told you they’re listening! They don’t like the way I laugh, one of them tells me it’s too loud, the other says that it’s not okay to be happy, and that I’m laughing at jokes about myself. They tell me not to laugh so I don’t. They tell me not to speak so I don’t. I don’t even know if my voice still works.
I don’t do conversations anymore, and notes are much too conspicuous. I’m sure that at least one of them can read. I’m not dumb enough to send letters to anyone, and if I did, no one would read them. They’d ridicule me for the things I say and the words I use. I hope that you don’t, but I’m sure that you probably will. I have to tell someone about these things. The things that keep tabs on my every movement. They count my breaths too. Wanna bet they don’t? Go right ahead and ask them. They won’t talk back. They think you’re going to make them go away. They’re telling me to stop, but I can’t. I have to finish this.
You think I’m crazy don’t you? It’s okay. I don’t mind. I like me. And I never say anything mean about myself. At least, I don’t think I do. But I’m sure that you do, but you just don’t understand. I’m different as you can tell, but you don’t care why. You see when I was younger... Oh it doesn’t matter anyway, I know you’re not listening anymore. I think I’ll keep this going though. It’s nice to pretend someone cares.
I’m sure that if you were listening as closely as they were, you’d want to know who they are. I’d like to know too. I just know something or someone is watching everything that I do. I don’t know who it is, or where they’re from, or how they’re watching but I’m absolutely positive that they are. Watching that is. I don’t know what they want with me, or how they go into my house, all I know is that they talk to me through my walls. The things they say aren’t very nice. They tell me to kill myself almost everyday. I’m thinking about it.
I think that dying might be nice. I bet it would be quiet. People always describe death as a peaceful thing, and I’d like to experience a peaceful sleep. One without them listening to me. One day I’m going to hold that pretty little Smith and Wesson up to my head and shut the voices up. One day, just when you think I’m getting better, I’m going to put a new little air hole in my head. And it will great, but until then, they’re just going to keep screaming at me.
They say paranoia’s the destroyer. And they're right. It makes people close themselves off. I can’t help it. I’m going to shut back down now. I’m tired of you saying I’m crazy. I’m tired of them telling me you’re only going to hurt me, like I don’t already know. I know you’re going to tell everyone I’m a bat shit crazy lunatic. But it’s okay, I’ll be gone soon. One day. One day.
BAM!