One may tolerate a world of demons for the sake of an angel.

but...how could an angel break my heart?

It's just one of those days...
Where I just want to disappear, To get away from everything,
Dying just seems less sad than having lived too little.

I think I'd do better on my own, no friends, no fights, just me alone.
I see her but she sees past me.
I look in her eyes but she looks around me.

Does she know what I see when she stares through me? I see her and I can't help watching her not watching me.

You cannot be a good writer of serious fiction if you are not depressed ...

It's just that dying seems less sad than having lived too little.