demon longoria 🂠 district 1 🂠 fin

I honestly never thought I'd be good at something again. Depression has kicked my ass since I popped out of the womb. For the longest the only thing that made me happy was the Games, when I was a kid it was all I talked about, all I thought about. It was so engrossing to me, fascinating, decades upon decades of bloodshed and gore to get lost in. Can you blame me for being a little fucked up? The world sucks in the best way imaginable, it was way cooler when I thought I'd be dying early. 

But somewhere along the way I decided I didn't want to be another cold body and my dads weren't too happy about that. Pretty much my whole life has been about training and the Games and yada yada; you see my problem yet? What makes me matter? It's like I had no identity for seventeen years, just another boy with too thick pride waiting to die for my district. It's pretty shit when you sit back and think about it, and I think a lot of careers are realizing this a little too late. 

For a bit there I did ballet, for all the wrong reasons of course. I wanted to fight like a dancer, I wanted to kill while doing acrobatics and have a whole spectacle going on. Pretty shallow goals in life, but I was riding a high that I would be something successful sometime soon. Over night I'd volunteer and make my name and then die knowing I did my part - what the fuck? Do you hear this? 

Who let this system go on for so long? 

When I was sixteen, me and my friends did shrooms for the first time and it's like it opened something in my brain. For once I saw the world for what it really was instead of what I wanted it to be, and I noticed how unkind it is to people like me. We're expendable, the big bad wolves, the villains in the inevitable hero's story arc; I don't want that for myself anymore. The problem is I don't know what I want. 

It's like I died internally and my body just kept going for a bit there, I lost a sense of myself I didn't even know I had. I was all hollow and I stopped talking to people, I broke up with my girlfriend and shaved my hair and got shitty tattoo's I'll regret by the time I'm 25 if I make it that far. My dads sent me to therapy and I'd fight with them anytime they tried to make me talk about myself, it all felt so stupid. 

It all felt so useless. 

And then I picked up the guitar, and I fucking sucked at it, and I still wanted to die. After a while though, it became my new obsession, the only thing I cared about. That's how I work, I guess. I need that one thing, and as long as it isn't crack or morphling it can't be that bad for me, right? I say that while hiding all my dead vapes from my dads in an old shoebox, popcorn lungs might take me before anybody else ever gets the chance. 

Do you know how weird it is to spend your whole life thinking about your own murder? Like it was a fact, too, just waiting to happen. The songs I write are all macabre drab hipster bullshit and I don't mean for them to sound good, it's just a chance for me to scream over a guitar rift and feel better about myself. About how much I hate myself, I guess, it feels good to at least get it out there. 

I just live in my own world these days. I'm not the friendly kid with limitless potential, I'm Willy Demon and I just play the guitar and smoke my brains out after school. What's worse is that ever since I decided to live, I feel like I hate myself more than ever before. Having fun yet? If I could be king for a day, I'd probably exile myself and live in a cave somewhere. Just me and my guitar and all the weed in the world until I die from starvation, sounds like a good way to go to me. 

Better than being umpteenth place in next year's death match. 

Given the chance, I'd still volunteer. You hate to hear it, right? Despite everything, I can't give it up, I can't quit. It's almost all I have: being a career. If I don't die early, I'll grow into a lifeless shell of a trainer with no real ambitions, forced to be apart of a system I've grown to hate. That's sounds worse somehow, and what I hate is that that's what's most likely for me.

Goodbye Longoria; can't I just be eighteen forever?