Last Words of a Hopeful Romantic

I'm at the end of this rope.
I'm falling.

Elaborate, lost in a sea of memories and reminisce.

She's there before me, white, pale, peaceful.
She passed away.
An aching bullet, created from an aching heart.
And you all mocked her!
A renegade, she was. Daring to live a life her own while you cower away in misery and form!
You demons, she was but a waterfall to you all, shedding her tears.
So transfixed on stealing the pleasure of ogling her immaculacy did you fail to notice her dying inside! You're all beasts!

That's me, not a year ago. In love, so it seems.
A friend, still fresh in thought. The one who walked away with no more than a bat of her eyelid.
Why was she so eager, to ridicule the force of life we all possess? All but her own? Such fantastical hypocrisies that made her who she was, and who she still may be.

Pain. Visions. Anger. The friends who long ago tore all bonds and renounced their hatred and tore off their masks, leaving nothing but the memory, and leaving us, discarded like a child's toy, left to wonder why they held such bitterness.
Acquaintances. Friends. Even strangers. All they did was criticise, ridicule and threaten me. What was I to them? Just the martyr of their onslaught, left to suffer on the sideline?

A demoness. Bejewelled with the skulls of men, pierced with promises and deception. Such lies she told, such whimsical evil.
Around her neck strung were fragile hearts, each shredded and left to bleed over her chest. I see my skull, my heart, both blackening.

Surely life was not brought about on the foundations of such constant suffering. Even in alliance we fail to bring peace!

Life hurts, and love hurts, and they're all I know.
I don't know anything about death.

I'm at the end of this rope.
I'm falling.