So please come in…

And take a seat. Here’s the part when I learn, and you will teach on how to treat people like a piece of meat. I want a genuine, not a replica. Lethal medicine, a pin to the cornea, a sight for sore eyes. While other guys consume the lie, I’ll run and hide.

I should be angry. I should have spent a good bit of the last however long, angry.  But I haven’t. I’ve been hurt.  I’ve been alone.  I think that’s the hardest. I’ve been alone.  Yeah, I have people to talk to. But it’s different. It’s not the same.  I know it never will be.  I’m trying to figure out how to accept that.  I know I need to let go.  It’s not a matter of what I want or need.  That was made quite clear.  Friends don’t talk to each other out of pity.  And the only reason he still talked to me to be friends was out of pity.  I won’t do that to him anymore.

Drown me, slit my throat so lightly. Pick me up and drop me right into my grave. And now I wonder, sit alone and ponder. Should I even bother, when I see your face? The itch I couldn’t scratch. But I’d come crawling back but now. I’d much rather, rather, rather, rather, rather…

I haven’t been sleeping.  Haven’t had more than ten or so hours in the last week.  It’s not important.  Sleep is for the worthy.  And I’m not deserving.  Every time I close my eyes, I wake up in terror.  Last night was horrible.  Something broke.  I felt a snap.  It felt physical.  Like something deep inside actually snapped in half.  It hurt.  It hurt so bad that all I wanted was to bleed. To bleed until I bled dry.  I just want it to go away and not come back.  I want it over.  I couldn’t breathe. I was just reminded that I was worthless, and never mattered.  I was just a joke, like I always am.  I’m only useful to pull someone back from the edge, and kept around out of obligation.  I should have known better. I’ve never been worth more than a social experiment or amusement.

No doors exist on my fortress. The only entrance is the one I bear. You’re nothing more than a temptress. I fell victim to a heartless snare. 

When I broke, the floodgates opened.  The screaming started, louder than the music I use to distract me.  Drowning out the memories I use to calm the agony.  And this time I’m not forcing it out.  I’m riding it hard, letting it roll over me.  Wave after wave, it’s almost deafening.  I can’t concentrate, or think.  That’s probably a good thing.  All I hear or can focus on is the screaming.  Usually when it starts it’s a plethora of screams.  This time it’s one.  It’s one tormented and distraught scream that never ends.  It is wild and raw and near crazed.

I’m the master of construction, because I’m building walls like it’s my occupation. If you portray a liar, I’ll shut you out without hesitation.

I was trying to figure out a way to let go of holding on so tight, because I thought I was hurting someone I cared about.  Turns out I wasn’t.  He’d already gotten well over it.  I was an idiot.  I AM an idiot.  At least he got what he wanted.  He can be free. He never has to call me again. I’d never want someone to call me or text me out of PITY.  Or because they felt OBLIGATED to.  That just makes me feel… Dirty. Pathetic.  Even more worthless than I am.

I’d rather burn the bitch down. I never will cross that bridge again. I cannot trust you easily, or think that I’m the only one. I never let people in, and I have you to remind me why. So baby burn the bitch down, I never will cross that bridge again. Go ahead and burn the bridge right down, it’s what you wanted. Burn the bridge right down. I’m not the only one, the only one. So baby burn the bitch down, I never will cross that bridge again. I’d rather drown.

I made my knuckles bleed. Over and over and over again.  Three. Nine. Thirteen. Nineteen.  Nineteen was hard.  I think I broke it.  But nineteen is the number. It was calming. With each blow I lost more and more of what I’ve always felt was my humanity.  I let the screaming win.  I let the pain win.  I let it go.  I’m letting my emotions fade, I have no need for them.  Pain isn’t good.  And since I just learned that my memories of happiness were fake and out of a sense of obligation, I gained an emptiness that I don’t know how to fill.  The fix for this is to stop any concern about filling this gaping hole. Let it bleed.

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