Permit me...

Permit me...to feel what I once felt before...
Permit me...to shake myself to the core...
Permit me...to live my life as I please...
Permit me...to forget my dreams with ease...
Permit me...to let my philophobia accrue...
Permit me...to give my guilt its due...
Permit me...to return what I did borrow...
Permit me...to drown myself in my sorrow...
Permit me...to indulge in my philandering trysts...
Permit me...to go and slit my wrists...

Denial

Denial is a powerful thing

Not just a river in Egypt

I wonder why they so sing

Not simply, but encrypt!

Conscious or not

But what you deny

Will get real hot

And in will fly!

Jay, Jay, you've gone mad

Sad, sad; that's so, so sad!

I'm the jaywalking Jay

Watch where you're going, they say

And I reply - nay, nay, nay

I'm the jaywalking Jay

I make my own way

Foolish, you are, at me they bray

Yes, indeed, you are a jay

You do nothing but waste your day

Work not at all and only play

Doesn't matter, I make my hay

Yeah, I do, come what may

For, I'm the jaywalking Jay

I make my own way

A/N: This is what the thing's supposed to look like, but I can't manage to format the thing...

I do not know why I am doing this. I do not want to know why I am doing this. I do not want to think about it anymore. I have given enough thought to the matter, turned it over in my mind again and again, but I have not been able to derive a convincing reason for my action. Yet, I must do it. I simply must. I do not have a choice. I know that I may not live long enough to finish what I start, yet I feel the compulsion to write. Maybe I do not want to be remembered as the cause of her downfall when I am actually innocent of the crime I am held guilty for. I shall probably soon depart from the world of the living. Forever. And the one person who could have saved me lies in a coma, no one knowing when she will wake up. How strange that the person who should be the one to have hated me the most is actually the only one who can save me! Perhaps she will awake after my death; the other, as can be seen from the introduction, does not care a fig. She will write the epilogue when she awakes. And if she does not wake up, the truth shall never come out. Maybe I am being stupid, but I really do not care anymore. And this is probably all I'm going to say about myself for quite some time, if not forever.