Is it Real or Is it Realistic

is full of herself and longing for the end. Every time I think it gets closer it is a softly whispered "nigh" and then out of sight again with another sad and deepening trench in my heart. I really don't know what to do. Seeking help gets me locked up against my will and my child savagely ripped from my bosom and going it alone means to fail for I came here ill equipped. Peace and I are enemies of sorts and I rue the day it comes for I may not notice it when it arrives. It need wear a big sign and still I would not see it as more than a backdrop for disaster to prevail. All is lost and all is dark and cold and damp and sticky with a familiar metallic smell fuming up from my mouth I can only deduce is my own blood and life force as i sink my teeth further into my lips and tongue to hold back some of the disdain I have. Too many people are hurt by my mere words and are confused by my choices and desires and seem to attribute the ilk of humanity upon me in the hopes that will "fix" what is broken. But I am not broken. I never was broken. Or accepted or wanted or needed. Once my task is done this world then so too will I be done. It is comforting to know that and yet, miserable in the fact that the fates can be mischievous again and hall me away to another chore. Melancholy doesn't begin to convey my deepest sadness.~mobe's love to her all (it hurts so to even write this) and her all to her loves.