Dear diary,
When they ask of me,
Tell them I tried.
For an aching score and five bleeding years,
I tried;
But this world just isn't for the likes of me.
I searched but never did I find home.

What do I know anyway?
They just might never ask,
Mayhap my passage will be as unworthy of notice as my existence.
I searched for home in a family of artists,
Who prided themselves on being 'weird'.
Apparently, my weirdness didn't fit the definition of theirs,
For they took my silence as scorn;
Unable to read between the lines every time I sent a message,
And my hands trembled with the amount of courage it took to do so.

I tried,
But the fear consumed me.
Fear of myself,
Of the amaranthine thing that lay in the depth of my mind.
And thus, my heart runs into an overdrive every time I have myself for company.

I fought!
But it seems my heart doesn't beat in a tandem with this body,
So it planned a coup with my mind and brain,
As they delved into how to escape this body.

Let it never be said that I was a coward,
For I tried,
And I fought with razors and fire against this insanity.
But the only thing I ended up tearing apart was myself.