| I'm lost among all the beautiful people and my self-esteem is on a steady drop down into the depths of where it had come from a long time ago. Only given a slight push to rise due to a few rare moments in my life that I am beginning to doubt will ever make a reappearance. I've tried so hard to make this all work and yet it seems to fail every single time. I've become the biggest faker and the worst liar and I just can't tell you how I feel. I'm afraid of all the ways that it can turn back against me. It's another depressing night in the dark with a sharp pointed razor drawn across my wrists, tender from the time before, and the time before, and the time before. I'm not belonging again and I'm not too sure what to do. I long to tell you how jealous I am, how much I love you, how much I want you, how much you hurt me, how much I can't stand them, how much I want to be a part of everything, how much I want you around, and how much I need the knowledge that I can push you away. I suck in a breathe and hold back the whimper that's crawling up my throat like some kind of insect. Scrabbling with it's tiny frail legs as it tries to escape into freedom and air. Moving faster to make itself noticed. I cough and I whine. I'm revelling in the pain that I bring upon myself. The only pain that I allow myself to have. Because I am deserving. I lean my forehead against the white of my mattress, rubbing my wrist along the carpet and adding to the stains of purple nail polish and old clay. I am...so...selfish. I'm a user. Because I want to be used. I feel so much better being used, so much like it's the only thing in life that I can do correctly. To be there only at the prime times and put away to be brought down for later. It's not so bad. I think it's my step in the ladder of society. You have the rich and the exceptional, the intelligent and the sexy, the activists and the strange, and then you have the users at the bottom. The ones stepped on to bring everyone else up. The ones whose shoulders are sore with the marks of other's feet and hands as they pull themselves up higher, leaving the used behind. It's not so bad. Believe me. I staunch the flow with a crusty towel. Stiff with who knows what. The tears that run down my face and make damp spots can be blamed on only one. I can't blame the people who've been to my bed. I can't blame the people who've tried to fix me. I can't blame the people who've tried to ruin me. I can't blame the people who live amongst my step. And as I look upon the oozing blood of my insides, leaking outside. I can't help but blame myself for everything. The End |
| ...I... by: V |