Dear bloody spittoons,
And while I have disgusted my friends beyond reasons. I am pushing them away with my confessions and weaknesses and they will come back with a vengeance to fix me. I am not to be fixed. Not yet. I am not a freaking retard. You think I don't know what I feel is wrong and senseless? You see me in your eyes as I lie in my pool of blood and regard me with utter disdain. You can’t see my struggle simply because you aren’t me. And I’m glad as hell you weren’t. I could never wish upon you the same demons that are plaguing my every waking moment. You think me weak as you turned your head to walk away. You think I’m a willing slave to my misery, humble and ever receiving. Yes, I would gladly hurt myself if it would change a thing but it doesn’t. I am where I am, wounds gushing or not. Stop guessing; you know for sure the answer is yes.
Everyone dies, yes, especially lovers
Somewhere out there, someone is ought to be in a more terrible plight that I can ever be in
I am the root of my problems and therefore the solution
I fabricate lies; distort reality to my will so I may blend into its odd shapes at night to steal a breathing moment or two
I am infused with clarity that I am downright rejecting it with arrogance and stupidity
I am bending everyone’s well-wishes into curses, shunning sincerity and mocking kind advices
I have forced them out in the sick excuse and name of love. What irony! Tara, so very sweet, must be so ashamed and disappointed. “I came back to be your conscience, dear.” I heard her say one day and I remembered curling my hands by my sides in defiance into fiery fists of anger. I could not understand her then.
I am who I attract and therefore repel. I am to be emptied, my wounds and blood pour out in a vessel, a vessel my friends are not. She will, in less than a blink of eye, hurt me if it changes anything. I can’t blame her for I love her too. Each day, I live as if I have put a knife through Tara’s heart, twisted it and watch her die. What’s acutely missing and to follow is my own death, for me to do the same to myself like I have done her. It’s consuming; it’s an indulgent and the hole in my wall. But I am tired, absolutely depleted. I crave sleep; I crave light and a reason. I crave a life I have put on hold for 10 years. I wish for friends and genuine company. I wish for laughter to fill my ears again and a kiss at night and in the wee mornings when I wake up in cold sweat and suffused with fear. I wish for life before it’s too late, before I die. I would love to travel, I would love to open my eyes and see the world not on a page or from someone else’s experience but of my own.
Yes, do walk away if you must but be sure to return.
The infant is trying to live here and I shall teach a corpse like me to walk and breathe and one day, be granted a chance at life. I hope it isn’t too late to remove the blade. I hope I can heal. I hope I can finally listen.
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