Jan 12
What have I become? Nothing but a monster, a hollow shell that craves love and companionship—simple, human things I will never truly possess. I stand apart, not by choice, but by the cruel design of my nature. Every human has these things, these connections, but not me. I am no human, nor can I ever pretend to be. Who am I trying to deceive with these delusions? No one but myself.
Everyone sees the monster I am everyone but me. I’ve clung to the false hope that I could rewrite my truth, that I could bury the shadows and emerge into the light. But how long can I deny the lies that I have built my existence upon? When will I accept that the reflection I hate is the truest part of me? The truth I’ve tried so hard to suppress bleeds through, no matter how deeply I try to bury it.
I wanted to be seen for what I wish to be: kind, worthy, loved. But no matter how hard I try, the monster is always there etched into my face, carved into my soul. It’s not something I can escape or hide. The scars of my existence show on the surface, and even more beneath. Who am I really? Can I even answer that question, or am I just fragments of despair stitched together by the lies I’ve told myself?
I dream of a life where I am free, free of the torment, free of the hollow ache that gnaws at me every waking moment. But dreams are for the living, for the hopeful. And I am neither. Forgotten, lonely, forever abandoned—my fate is sealed. Love was never meant for me, and yet I crave it with a desperation that consumes me. A paradox, a curse, an existence I never chose but must endure.
If I am ever remembered, it will not be as I wish to be. I won’t be cherished or mourned. I will be remembered as the darkness that swallowed everything, a shadow that crept into the corners of their minds and left them cold. That is who I am, a curse, a blemish, a stain that should have been erased long ago.
I burn with longing, but it’s the wrong kind of flame. It doesn’t warm; it destroys. A fire that consumes me from the inside, leaving nothing but ash where there once might have been hope. I scream silently into the void, but no one hears. No one ever does.
This is my truth: I am a monster. A being meant to be forgotten. A curse destined to be cast out of memory, written out of history, and lost in the abyss. I exist only to remind the world of what it fears most; emptiness. And in that emptiness, I remain.
Everyone sees the monster I am everyone but me. I’ve clung to the false hope that I could rewrite my truth, that I could bury the shadows and emerge into the light. But how long can I deny the lies that I have built my existence upon? When will I accept that the reflection I hate is the truest part of me? The truth I’ve tried so hard to suppress bleeds through, no matter how deeply I try to bury it.
I wanted to be seen for what I wish to be: kind, worthy, loved. But no matter how hard I try, the monster is always there etched into my face, carved into my soul. It’s not something I can escape or hide. The scars of my existence show on the surface, and even more beneath. Who am I really? Can I even answer that question, or am I just fragments of despair stitched together by the lies I’ve told myself?
I dream of a life where I am free, free of the torment, free of the hollow ache that gnaws at me every waking moment. But dreams are for the living, for the hopeful. And I am neither. Forgotten, lonely, forever abandoned—my fate is sealed. Love was never meant for me, and yet I crave it with a desperation that consumes me. A paradox, a curse, an existence I never chose but must endure.
If I am ever remembered, it will not be as I wish to be. I won’t be cherished or mourned. I will be remembered as the darkness that swallowed everything, a shadow that crept into the corners of their minds and left them cold. That is who I am, a curse, a blemish, a stain that should have been erased long ago.
I burn with longing, but it’s the wrong kind of flame. It doesn’t warm; it destroys. A fire that consumes me from the inside, leaving nothing but ash where there once might have been hope. I scream silently into the void, but no one hears. No one ever does.
This is my truth: I am a monster. A being meant to be forgotten. A curse destined to be cast out of memory, written out of history, and lost in the abyss. I exist only to remind the world of what it fears most; emptiness. And in that emptiness, I remain.
