|
|
|
|
|
|
I
can’t
stand this
pain. It’s not
even emotional
this time. This time,
it’s physical. My head
keeps pounding, my bones
won’t stop hurting, I’m dizzy,
and honestly, I just want to sleep.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I
do feel bad sometimes.
I know that my words
hurt others, and I
promise myself time
and time again that I
am
going to cut the
sarcasm. People think
that I do it because it’s
funny, because it
makes people laugh.
It’s not an attention
thing. It’s a defense
mechanism, my own
bullet-proof vest. I’ve
always been the joke,
so I’ve created this
strong, fake persona
to keep myself safe.
Sure, it’s protected me
from others, but I
often can’t stand
myself. Every time I
make a dark, clever
comeback, people
laugh along, but all
I want to say is, “I am
sorry.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I hope that
one day,
you see my
scars and
realize how
many of them
you caused.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
“It’s not your fault.”
The words that have saved me
time and time again. Before
they’re uttered, I know that I’m
the one to blame. I must be.
I’m human, I make mistakes,
but I make more mistakes than
most people. I’ve hurt too
many people, I’m addicted to
hurting myself. My soul is
bruised. I want to be repaired,
I want to be taped back
together, but how can I, when
I know the world’s problems
are my own fault?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I want to have
sex.
I’m not experienced
or anything like that,
but hey, isn’t that
they best kind? The
sex
where you enter the
unknown, prepared
for anything, but
knowing nothing.
You might not even
be that good, but
who cares, when
sex
is the question?
We’re in it for the
rush, for the lust,
for the experience.
It’s not taboo, it’s
a natural part of
life, a part I wish
I was familiar with.
It’s not love, it’s
simply meaningless
sex.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I don’t
know what it’s like to
fit in. I simply don’t
belong
anywhere I go. But
really, who does?
No one is normal.
No one belongs. I
don’t know what
individual issues
you have with
where you are,
and that’s okay.
All I know is that
I don’t belong
here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
What’s the difference between
liking someone and loving them?
To do nothing or everything
for them?
To live about or for them?
Are they hot or beautiful?
To have sex or make love?
Are they feelings or truth?
Is it real or fantasy?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I feel like I’m
slipping
away.
This person
that I am is
unfamiliar
to me, I don’t
know her,
she doesn’t
know me.
Help me,
I’m already
gone.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
I’m
not your clay model.
You don’t decide what
to do with me. I’m not
your
project, I’m nothing for
you to experiment with.
If I do this, will she break?
What about this? Don’t
you know that she’s already
broken? I don’t want to be the
creation
of your deception, but without
you, who would I be?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
If you’re in my past,
stay in my past. There’s
a reason you’re not
with me anymore,
you know that, right?
The sad thing is,
I don’t think you
have any clue how
much abuse you
put me through,
and I hate you for
that. I hate you
for choosing me
as your source of
strength. Who
the hell do you
think I am? I’m a
weak person, I
can barely take
care of myself, much
less you too.
You can’t hurt
me like that then
expect me to
just take you
back into my life.
Stay in the past.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
