Sometimes, I feel like my existence is nothing but torn pages of a forgotten book, scattered and meaningless. The weight of the world presses down on me, suffocating any glimmer of hope or light that tries to break through the darkness.

Each day feels like an endless cycle of pain and despair, a never-ending battle against my own mind. The cuts on my wrist and arm serve as a reminder of the constant struggle within me, the desire to escape this reality becoming stronger with each passing moment.

I find solace in solitude, retreating into myself to avoid the harsh judgment and expectations of others. My goblin core-themed clothes provide me with some semblance of comfort, a shield against the outside world that sees only what they want to see.

The rope burns on my neck are not just physical scars; they represent failed attempts at finding peace in death. Each time I close my eyes and let go, something pulls me back from the brink - whether it be fear or unfinished business remains unclear.

My stuttering speech betrays my inner turmoil, revealing glimpses of vulnerability that I try so hard to hide. Black thin-rimmed glasses frame dull depressing brown eyes that have seen too much suffering for one lifetime.

Despite it all, there is still a part of me that longs for connection and understanding. A flicker of hope buried deep within whispers tales of redemption and healing - if only I could muster up the courage to reach out.

But for now, I remain trapped within these torn pages of existence - lost in a sea of uncertainty and pain. Perhaps one day someone will come along who can mend these broken pieces together again... until then,I continue to navigate this chaotic journey alone.