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Description
I've heard of this pretty world. There's lots of light there, and the place is warm. There are colors—do you know them? Remember them, from way back when? I know, it's hard to remember. It's hard to believe we didn't always live here. But they're bright and beautiful and smiling—smiles, do you remember? No, no, not grimaces. Real smiles. Love? Do you remember that too? I know. That one's the hardest.
Have you ever looked out the windows of this room? You can see it from in here. Remember those smiling people out there? Remember, before we got separated? The people there are powerful. They can achieve things they want—everybody has someone to love them there.
Doesn't it make you feel sad? Doesn't it? We're stuck in this dark, grey room with just a little light bulb. It's not even on all the time. We have to endure such abuse; they take our dreams and shatter them, they sap our energy away. We have to try three times as hard just to get up, while in the pretty world people do this so easily. Sometimes I can hear them talking to me through the windows. They smile at me, tell me, "Come on, cheer up!" I wish I could live there.
But sometimes I'm not sure: is it an illusion? Am I just being too hopeful? This must be as good as it gets… is there anything really out there? But if there is, I want to be there. I don't want to look at the clock ticking the seconds of my life away. I don't want to only be able to lie on the floor anymore—I want to get up. I want the lights to be on all the time, like it is in the pretty world.
But I can't go there. I deserve to be here. I'm a bad person, lazy, dumb, and bad. I wish I could go there but there's no one to help me. The people in the windows, they can't put their hands through. They can't break the glass between us. I'm too weak to do it by myself, and they can't help me.
There are some people who speak more clearly through the glass. They tell me they can break it, but they can't do it alone, they need me. I talk to them, I ask them please, please tell me how to break the glass. I want to get out of this room.
But I don't like what they say. They say we'll help you. Things will be better. But then they want to lock me up, in a smaller room, in a darker room, totally cut off from the smiling people, not even a glance at the pretty world. They want to feed me things that'll take away the darkness, but also the light bulb, leaving me floating in a medium shade of grey. Once you let them take you, there's no coming back. There's no coming back to the dark room, where you can find comfort in the little flickering light bulb and the windows into the pretty world. They want to hurt me to help me. And I don't want to hurt.
So I don't tell them anymore. I don't tell them I want to go out to the pretty world; I tell them it's pretty in here. I imitate their smiling faces and tell them about all the lovely colors I can see in my dark little room. And meanwhile, I'll watch the clock, waiting for the moment it stops. I'll fight the urge to stop it myself, to stop the clock and with it, my pain.

Description
I've heard of this pretty world. There's lots of light there, and the place is warm. There are colors—do you know them? Remember them, from way back when? I know, it's hard to remember. It's hard to believe we didn't always live here. But they're bright and beautiful and smiling—smiles, do you remember? No, no, not grimaces. Real smiles. Love? Do you remember that too? I know. That one's the hardest.
Have you ever looked out the windows of this room? You can see it from in here. Remember those smiling people out there? Remember, before we got separated? The people there are powerful. They can achieve things they want—everybody has someone to love them there.
Doesn't it make you feel sad? Doesn't it? We're stuck in this dark, grey room with just a little light bulb. It's not even on all the time. We have to endure such abuse; they take our dreams and shatter them, they sap our energy away. We have to try three times as hard just to get up, while in the pretty world people do this so easily. Sometimes I can hear them talking to me through the windows. They smile at me, tell me, "Come on, cheer up!" I wish I could live there.
But sometimes I'm not sure: is it an illusion? Am I just being too hopeful? This must be as good as it gets… is there anything really out there? But if there is, I want to be there. I don't want to look at the clock ticking the seconds of my life away. I don't want to only be able to lie on the floor anymore—I want to get up. I want the lights to be on all the time, like it is in the pretty world.
But I can't go there. I deserve to be here. I'm a bad person, lazy, dumb, and bad. I wish I could go there but there's no one to help me. The people in the windows, they can't put their hands through. They can't break the glass between us. I'm too weak to do it by myself, and they can't help me.
There are some people who speak more clearly through the glass. They tell me they can break it, but they can't do it alone, they need me. I talk to them, I ask them please, please tell me how to break the glass. I want to get out of this room.
But I don't like what they say. They say we'll help you. Things will be better. But then they want to lock me up, in a smaller room, in a darker room, totally cut off from the smiling people, not even a glance at the pretty world. They want to feed me things that'll take away the darkness, but also the light bulb, leaving me floating in a medium shade of grey. Once you let them take you, there's no coming back. There's no coming back to the dark room, where you can find comfort in the little flickering light bulb and the windows into the pretty world. They want to hurt me to help me. And I don't want to hurt.
So I don't tell them anymore. I don't tell them I want to go out to the pretty world; I tell them it's pretty in here. I imitate their smiling faces and tell them about all the lovely colors I can see in my dark little room. And meanwhile, I'll watch the clock, waiting for the moment it stops. I'll fight the urge to stop it myself, to stop the clock and with it, my pain.