It's times like this when life catches me off guard.
A familiar spark in your eyes, a heart-wrenching smile that lights up your features like a Christmas light. Are you for real? Are you true?

The truth was, I used to curl up under my blanket and cry that I wasn't the one.

The truth is, I don't know what to feel anymore.

I wish I could walk away from you and say goodbye. Yet, this doesn't feel right.
Nothing feels right anymore.
I wish I were crazy so they would lock me up and let me sleep. Peaceful quiet clinical hospital wards, sterilized corridors. White sheets. All the vending machine coffee I could ever want. Three times a day I would take pills that would make me happy.
I want to be happy.
I want to be happy.

I can't remember anymore. No, I do.
I remember hands like blades, cutting, cutting, cutting.
The clarity cuts through my skin.
These crimson stains; so pretty, so obscene. Like our deep, dark secret.

I am drowsy and I am drowning in my memories. I can't run and I can't hide. I watch the world spin madly on through half-lidded eyes. I shake. I bite my chapped lips.
It's not enough.
It's never going to be enough.

Every night, I whisper, "Someday, someday, I wouldn't take this anymore. Someday, I' ll run away."

The truth is, I want this pathetic thing they call a life to be over.
Roll over and twitch like a dead pigeon, with glassed-out eyes watching the skies. Waiting, waiting to hit the ground. Because I always hit the ground. And it does hurts.

I am not crazy. The worst of all this is that i am not crazy. Not even drunk.
Just self-destructive. Just fucking everything-destructive, that's all.

Dear Jesus, I'm scared. Of course, I'm scared.
Maybe, you would like a "Hi!" or a "How are you doing?". We can make pretend like this is just like everyday.

But this isn't everyday, is it?

Would you feel better if i answered your screams? If I soothe that maniacal spark in your eyes, telling you that everything would be fi-

-and tell you all those lies?

Your desperation rolls off your damp skin. How would you react with I told you that I want my hands upon you. and that I can't take my eyes off you?

Would you think that same way as the others had did?

Don't speculate too far. Don't get too haughty. Because all I want is to revel in the taste of your fear and helplessness. To plunge into that unmistakeable smell of lost pride and confidence. To pry open your mind to reflect your insecurities. To get beneath this unblemished skin and see how much percentage of it is plasma. to tear you apart slowly and get down to know what really lies beneath all that big talk and confident swagger. To...

Scrutinize my source of downfall and curiosity.

So, bitch, choke on your words. Eat it up. Lick it clean and tell me that same old pathetic story. Don't go around waving and smiling at me; when all you are really trying to do is to kill me with all your disgusting glamour and ill intentions. Every rotten smile you give, it reminds me of how aptly it reflects your rotten heart.

Don't worry, It's not your turn yet.

Bitch, you fucking stole my words. Burnt them, and danced in their fucking ashes. How does it feel to know that you'll deserve the same fate?

Fate? Pfftt...

You don't have to get onto your fucking knees and plead. Well, you may say your piece and lick anyone's feet. But you're still be the one that bleeds. Because I can assure you, it's not going to be me this time.

-----

And hey, Mr I-Think-I-Am-Emo-And-It-Makes-Me-Hot what makes you think that your opinion matters? Your narrow-mindedness just owned you 100 times over. So if you're gonna talk, you'd better get something to back your shit up. Or you should just keep your mouth shut. But I guess, you can keep a fool from getting trashed, can you? Your actions and words (if you assume that they make sense) just amuse me and are the very reason why idiots will always be so entertaining.