Frankly, I hate living
It's filled with so much, ****.

I hate being me, I hate being this thing, this person that I've grown so accustom to, I hate her.
I loath her, yet . . . I can not stop her, she is just there.
Eating away at my past, and forming my dreadful so called future.

I fear what she is capable of, and what power she truly has over me,
But who is Me?

I'm truly lost and broken, torn away from that little girl,
that short little girl that was so happy and ready for anything, always voicing her opinion, standing up for herself and others.

Dear God, what happened to that little purple flower?
Why did she wither away, and fray into a navy blue?
The tendrils of her roots sinking themselves deeper into the earth, her vines not strung up on thin string, holding her up like a puppet.

Music drones out her demonic thoughts, but then the lyrics touch her heart, and she quickly darts, changing over to her Electro, blaring it strong into her eardrums.

Boom. Boom. Boom.
Finally . . . Peace.
Until the next song.

The music chimes around everyone, as the clowns come out.
There for fun and happiness, don't trust them little one.
The balloons are filled with poison, and if popped, you know the result.

Do not give into their lies about joyous adventures and fun, fun, fun!
Never run away with the circus, the singer is out back, smoking her *** with the lions.
The acrobats are in their carriage making out.
The knife thrower is popping his pills, his costume covering the bandages from the encoring crowd
The clowns leading little girls into the forest, with a cheery smile.
A vile smile.
"It's just a game, now be quiet"

The elephants being whipped and running in circles,
a bear riding a little bike,
the horses gasping for air and dying for a drink.
How evil.

The ringleader getting off inside all the dancers, his performers, his workers. What a wonderful man.
The tent has risen, high and mighty on the east side of America, luring in the innocence of others that just want to feel joy.
Least some survive and are not touched by the vile truth, and are forced to dive down into acceptance.

They are not happy.
They are evil.
Real.

A cloud of smoke leaves the singers mouth, as her eyes are covered in a red shading, her green eyes popping out.
The knife throwers container dropped to the floor, his body throwing up blood, tearing itself up piece by piece.
A flashlight growing over the clown in the woods.

The girls leave the ringleaders carriage, as he throws his head back, consuming liquid courage, fighting off his demons from the past.

No one is truly happy, this is the real world.
Cruel, Corrupt, Sick, Twisted.
Wrong

I’m constantly being thrown across, and dragged by my own thoughts, back and forth, back and forth.
I’m broken and tattered, my arms have imaginary scratches, and I’m bleeding out, bruises covering my body, blood dribbling from my head like a baby’s spit onto a bib.
My tears won’t stop, they ache and sting my eyes,
heavy, lifeless, sleepless.

Tearing into my skin as my nails scrape against my neck, trying to rip something out. So I no longer speak.
My eyes are too weak to stop my tears from leaking out, giving me no sleep.
My body is frail, and failing me, the wounds are just too deep, I can’t move, the lack of eating is revealing my paling skin and sickly broken bones, the pain.

I don’t want to feel it anymore,
I don’t want to feel anything anymore,
I just want to die.
Eternal slumber to envelop my being, taking away any form of feeling.

But my brain never seems to stop moving,
not for long anyways.
As my demented thoughts, pick me up and throw me all around a room, letting my dead eyes reveal something that might be fake for all I know.

My head, never, shuts up.
Make it stop!
Make it stop!
Overthinking everything ruins me, my thoughts have become like this because I can’t stop hoping, and then pulling myself down from the clouds of wishful thinking, and they rip and tear and destroy my wings that I once had.

I feel trapped inside my mind, and my body.
As if it does not belong to me, it is not mine.
I am stuck in a human body, filled with dreams, hopes and desires.
All kinds, hopes filled with happiness, dreams that turn to dust without being touched, and sinful and twisted desires that seem they will never be brought to this humans reality.

I feel like I'm throwing up invisible flowers,
Hanahaki Disease.

But because they're invisible to others and possibly even me,
I do not know if it was truly there or to be.
I'm infected with my depressing and constantly moving and changing thoughts, do I need drugs to fix my brain?

I want everything to stop this growing disease, this infection that has leaked into my brain and corrupting my thoughts.

Purity is a lie.
Sin is truth.
Life is meant to be on the edge.
Death is a sweet embrace we should take.
Falling from my bed, I feel like I want to go deeper into the ocean under our human world, and drown in the true reality, and to no longer suffocate from breathing in the waves of falsification.

I wish to see, the real me.
What everyone else sees to be me,
but I do not even know myself?
I wish to be seduced into something true and beautiful,
I wish to not be fed lies that the world persist to be the truth.

I wish to go to my salvation.
*I'm A Sick Girl.

I’m scared, terrified even.
That I’ll break, I’ll break down and cry if I meet your eyes,
hopefully not for the last time.
I can’t get wishful things out of my head,
I can’t get these fake dreams and ideas to just leave me alone!
Whenever I think of them, I’m happy, I’m warm.
But then I remember that it’s all gone, and I’m upset and freezing.

I’m sick of my twisted fantasies and constant “Why can’t, this” And “Why can’t that!”
I’m sick of the ****** tears that seep from my eyes like a stab wound. My heart should be the one bleeding not my eyes. I’m sick and tired of that liquid drenching my face like rain, rain is better than the tears, at least rain eventually stops, because I feel a flood building up inside me.

I’m crying about this, and I’m crying about that.
Can’t just have you back.
I’m constantly having to slap,
Slap Myself Back.
Back into the reality that, what I thought was there, wasn’t really...

Maybe.

I can't really think of anything at this point.
I feel like, I won't get anywhere if I don't try, but then I feel if I do try.
I'll see fear in their eyes.

The sun is frightening but brightens the world to let us see beauty, I do not wish to be the sunlight in someone's life, but I much prefer the moon.

A gracious and bright white glow that lets you see the path ahead in the dark.

But what can I do?
I'm only me, and you are only you.
I can't seem to let go of this grip I'm holding onto.
To others it may seem sickening or twisting.
But, I don't know what I'm doing, and I honestly wish people didn't waste their time *******.

******* around with their words, ******* around with my mind with their turds, thinking they're speaking English.

All they're spouting is nonsense.
****.
Don't ***** around with the truth.
Just tell it to me straight.
All of your opinions are the same, it's like everyone's words are only on replay.
Original mixtape, pirated between people's brains.

How do I put this?
What do I say?
I guess I’ll just lay it out this way.
You’re gone, and I can’t do anything about it.
I’m sad, sure, angry, not really..
I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve just passed the stages of grief,
within a day?
Maybe less than that.
I did not experience denial, I tried to keep calm, and wiped the tears from my eyes, so I could see what I was putting on the screen, and what you were sending back to me.
I did not feel anger inside me, I was civil and respectful of your decision, and did not lash out with any kind of rebuttal.
There was no attempt to convince myself otherwise with bargaining,
I still have hope, because you presented it to me.
I did however feel sad, lonely, empty, depressed,
Because you left me, just like that,
Cry I did, but I can’t really help that.

I met acceptance with shy little steps, and a quiet introduction,
even though I’d much rather be confident, but I know that’s difficult.

The future holds either so much or so little for me.
I do not know which, but I truly do hope, that maybe,
possibly.

We might be okay again some day.