judas

it's like taking the medicine for the wrong cure. or rather,it's taking the wrong drug for an aged prescription. either way, you still push yourself to suicide,though you've always known you're headed for the wrong turn.you know it's a crash. and definitely one which will declare you dead on arrival but what the heck,you've always waited for the collision.
it's a cancer.no,it doesn't grow on you.it's some sort of a scar the same pain had created and by some miracle, no it never was an accident thanks to fate and the willing you, the dull ache throbs, the scar comes to life, and the stubborn vein pulsates again-withered memories come to life,hopes of new beginning come creeping back..much worse than the memory of the promised puppy you never had..or the defunct amusement park you've never been to when you were a kid.
it's going over the same flagellation...with the faintest hope of salvation.and you hate yourself over and over again.
and you hate the person who brings back the same agony.the same salvation.you could hate the person like hell.they made you dead.ironically, only them could bring you back to life. you can,for several times, forsake what you had believed on. but the more you deny it, you're bound to condemn yourself to some measly amount of redemption. what with a few slivers of hope could contain you?nothing. in the end, we have to betray ourselves.