Everyone Can Go To Hell

It's over.

I'm fed up. I'm sick of it.

It's getting on, in and around my nerves.

I'm stopping. I'm not talking.

And everyone on earth can go jump.

Edit:

Things don't seem the same anymore. They aren't. It's an unseen barrier that's in between that makes things so distant. There are lapses, seemingly significant pauses, thoughts that are best left aside. I didn't choose it to happen this way. It did. And I accept it. That doesn't make it or me feel any better.