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....but it smells pretty

I don't know where to begin,

I don't know if I should.

After all they are only words.

Words that no one cares about.

Gone are the days of hope.

Yes, something negative - again!

No one wants to be near someone who hurts.

I am sad.

I can't be different.

It's a circle.

I hurt, no one cares, I hurt more.

Round and round it goes.

I don't like me.

I don't like the life I've had.

It started with abuse as a child.

Leading to abuse as an adult.

I allowed the love in that was there.

Even if I shouldn't have.

Then I got sick.

So very sick.

But somehow, I stay alive.

Tortured by doing so.

There is no one near.

So I try to drown the pain.

Pills and drink.

The pain is dulled, ever present.

How long can I do this?

Somewhere, deep down,

Underneath the cancer of addiction and disease,

Is a hope.

Hope.

I can barely see it but it smells pretty.

I am no where near it.

But I know it's there.

I have become a burden.

To the one person who is near me.

The one person who loves me -

Who used to believe in me.

Everything is said in the eyes

And the absence of smiles.

I wanted to be a writer.

I wanted to create beautiful stories.

I didn't want to be sick,

Or to be dead while breathing.

I wanted more.

No one wants to be near someone who hurts.

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Written by
thomas-r-parsons
American
Published
May 12, 2013
Lines·Words
46·254
Notes

Written because I know only the words of a few matter. Feeling like a failure is a scourge.

Permission

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