Some days i am angry, actually most of the time im angry.
I sprout out rude snarky remarks, so people can have a reason to hate me.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms, hoping that someone can give me a reason to be filled with annoyance.
I hand out ***** looks as if they're candy.
I lash out on friends and family.
I tell people’s secrets so they have a reason to leave me.
I break people, and I break things.
The violent anger in me never ends. Anger is sadness, and sadness is anger, misery is despise,and despise becomes misery,
But the anger is all just a charade.
The anger cloaks the victim in me by pushing people away.
The victim in me cries lakes of tears
The victim in me stays in bed all day, and stares at the ceiling
The victim in me craves the feeling of being held
The victim in me fantasizes of blades, knives and needles
The victim in me cannot be happy for other people's successes,
The victim in me craves the sweet comfort of feeling loved by another person that it almost hurts.
The victim in me yearns for the love that other people receive.
Sometimes the victim and the anger like to play a game. The game consists of the seeing who can botch my brain up the most.
The battles in my mind goes on and on, as i lose friends, one by one.
The anger tells me to push people away while the victim is telling me to accept the love a random girl gives me because that might be the only love you can get
The battle in my mind has now become a war that I cannot win.
The anger in me cage's my heart slowing down my breathing, making it impossible to honestly love someone.
The victim in me has told me to be sad, so people will care, for the victim urges me to over share my thoughts to anyone that is willing to listen.
The anger, tells people off, the anger hurts people, the anger ruins lives.
But shrouded by anger, is the victim, the victim who just wants to feel the love that other people are given.
The victim in me looks at the word love as if it's a magical word that could possibly fix anyone.
The victim in me believes in fairy tales. True love, a princess and happiness.
But the victim in me doesn’t know how to love, nor does the anger. Neither know how to love properly, but maybe just maybe they don’t have to love, maybe I can be the one who learns to love.