You say no one cares. Pretending you're unloved because you believe yourself unloveable.
But here they are, protecting you. They're holding your hand as you cry.
It's another cry. Another cry for attention I'd say.
But I'm not in your mind. Not in your body.
And I don't want to be.
Isn't it interesting? A year later and I'm still watching you.
I feel like a nervous parent watching their child from heaven. Too far away to touch.
But here I am, hating you. I'm watching your hand as you cry.
You type these words. They make me sick.
You're the victim again. Always the victim.
And I feel utterly selfish.
Isn't it interesting? I'm so angry at you, so utterly furious.
Some days I want to splash into your little world. I want to break this case wide open.
But I won't tell them. I won't tell them about the real you.
The you that yells and screams and complains...
about everything. You're a child.
And I feel somehow jealous.
Isn't it interesting? That maybe you're what I used to be.
I used to hate the world and feel completely alone. Somehow, I settled into that.
But now I sneer. I sneer at your words and your whines.
But I still want to pick you up. I want to tell you
that you're so much more than you show
and how I am weak.
Isn't it interesting? That a year later and there's still this piece of me.
I feel like it's a lie somehow. Everything I think and feel.
But you'd never understand. You only understand your feelings.
I'm not who you wanted me to be. Just like him.
You can't beat me into submission.
Just like I can't change your mind.
Isn't it interesting... that maybe I'm not mad anymore? Maybe I got you out of my brain.
Isn't it interesting... that it's my friend who's protecting you?
It melts me a little to think... maybe there's something good inside of you that I forgot.
But there's also a part of my stomach that's churning.
I can't believe this. I won't have it.
This denial-forced forgiveness at my throat.
The charcoal's burned out,
pushed into the slow-running stream
The heat's still in my eyes,
but the storm's caused a sizzle
turned inside my belly by my truth and lies.
It felt so good to rid myself of the hurt
But when the hurt subsides
it's hard to remember
Maybe it's not hard to remember... it's just hard to remember how it felt.
Maybe sometimes, I miss being torn down from the inside. Maybe sometimes, I think I deserve it.
It's not as easy to remind myself of the contrary.
Aren't I as bad as you
as you dangle from the branch -
a temptation of friendship and knowledge?
How can I damn the criminals?
My crimes number in multitudes
that only I can count.
They're fuzzy in the sky, dancing on the rainbows -
leaving mud footprints through the flowers.
Perhaps it was I that had you cast from the garden,
for my eyes can not see the validity of my actions.
Perhaps it was I that ruined the world,
for a past that is forever streaming.
And I think:
Aren't I a wild beast
running through the fields of my mind -
as fierce and as wild as those that 'deserve' death?
It's hard for me to see. They say I'm so much better... but sometimes inside, I feel like a monster....... for thoughts I'd never speak and past lives I cannot remember. Isn't breaking a heart just as bad... even if that heart hurt you first? And what is the level of these crimes that cancels out the others?
My boyfriend and my friends tell me that I am such a good, caring person... but I have horrible dreams and I feel... like my anger is just as cruel as those who have been cruel to me.
Copywrite Soulconstance aka Quin aka Me.