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  Jun 2014 quietly yelling
I am not who I seem
I will never be that girl from your dream.

If you start to care
You'll see what isn't there
You will see past that girl who wears black and scowled at pink and dresses
Wants to be a rebel
Wants to be a badass
Wants to be cool
You will learn to see past that exterior
You will know I'm not all attitude and insults
You will realize that that girl who cusses and fights isn't all there is

Then maybe you'll see deeper.
There's another girl
One who wants to dress up
Feel pretty
Wants to be a princess
Someone who wants to be like the people she admires
A little girl who wants to be cute with a guy
Someone who wants to skip around and be one of those lead people in the movies
Someone who cares
Appreciates beauty in butterflies
Tries to help her friends
Loves very easily and quickly
Deep down you'll see that I'm actually a fragile softie who cares too quickly
Gets hurt too easily
And apologizes too much.

Even below that is the person who is unhappy
The one who is self hate
The little sad girl that slits her skin and cries herself to sleep

But maybe I you manage to survive all that without letting all my **** destroy you (like it has so many others)
Then maybe
Just maybe
You'll get to meet Them
The part of me that created the 5 minute death game
The part that looked up how to tie a noose
And the one that collects pills
The self torturous part
Not just the fel pitying part

And then maybe if you manage to get through all of that you will find my heart
Cut up
And infected
Chained to the walls I build around myself
Pulling me apart
The heart that has bullet holes and battle wounds
The one leaving blood stains on what was my soul
The black mass of hell that is at the center of my being.
An if you're stupid enough, you'll make me love you.
But to be honest , I don't know who the **** I am.
  Jun 2014 quietly yelling
You asked me do I hate you
You asked me do I believe you
You asked me why I trust you

What was your intention ?

When I answered

What was your intention

Did you aim to make me hate you
Did you try to make me disbelieving
Did you want to break my trust in you

What was your intention

I told you to hurt me.
You said no

What was your intention

I dared you to hurt me
And you said you would never intentionally hurt me

What was your intention

And then you did
And you told me it was intentional

What was your intention

What the **** do you want from me??!
What the **** do you want me to do??!
What the **** was I thinking??!
What the **** was your intention??!
I know you hurt
I know you cry
I know you don't want to breathe
And I'm sorry
I'm so so sorry
  Jun 2014 quietly yelling
I told you I trusted you
I told you I loved you
I told you I care
I told you I try to help
I told you I believe you

You told me you loved me
You told me you cared
You told me to trust you
You told me I was important
You told me you would never intentionally hurt me

And I was stupid enough to believe it all.
You knew what you were doing.
  Jun 2014 quietly yelling
Why do you write?
i write because it helps me get to know myself better and understand what is going on in my head, what I'm feeling and how to get through it. It helps me figure out how to deal with my desires and secrets
-shrug- boredom

Why do you think so badly about yourself?
because its true and I'm awful and horrible and rude and violet and unlovable and unaffectionate and mean and spiteful and ****** and hideous
i just do

I love you
i love you too, but you'll leave and I can't tell you how I feel and maybe I'm reading too much into it and maybe you don't mean it in the way I interpret it and you'll move on and get over it and no one can ever love me, it's not true
Interpret if you want. My writing isn't going anywhere these days. Ugh. No comment.
  Jun 2014 quietly yelling
I am not numb
For numb is having emotions too much to bare
Too complicated to sift through
Too tangle up to sort out
Too overwhelming to rise above
That everything just merges into nothing.

Manic antics.
No longer unmotivated
No longer too scared to try
No longer too pained to care
No longer too hurt to love.
The threads you were hanging on by we're annihalated.
But you're not falling
Or panicking
Or soaring
Or dying
You're just existing.
Going through the motions of the decent or the flight.
Taking everything in your stride.
Not faltering
Not altering the way you do things.
Everything is transformed
Emotion feels nonexistent
And thoughts become frail.

But my days are numbered.
Not because I can't feel
Or won't feel
But because everything is mediocre.
Soaring is going up
Plummeting is going down
Rising above the **** is up
Being in he'll is going down
Torture is annoying pain
Euphoria is mild joyfulness
Depression is a shadow
Love is a fleck of light
Being haunted is remembering
Thoughts are just there
And my existence is passing me by.

My days are numbered
Because my torturous reward is this cage.
This daze
This haze
This maze of feelings
Impossible to navigate when everything is foggy.

My days are numbered
Because when you push something so far away
You're just giving it momentum to hit monumentally harder.  
And I can't escape this daze
But when I'm released...
I fear the outcome.
Too dazed and not present to write anything true, heartfelt or decent. Sorry.
  Jun 2014 quietly yelling
This is my confession statement.
I fantasize abou torture and killing
How to cover it up
Where the best place for ****** is
How to have the least witnesses
Ways to avoid emotional damage of the people who see the bodies.

Now for the confession.
I have tried to ****.
More than once.
I make people cry.
I torture.

It's story time.
Here's some background.
There is this girl. She's the ugliest thing on this planet, and she's overweight. She has no friends and used to be a complete loner.

And I found my love and addiction to torture through her. I would cut her. I would take my knives and drag them across her skin. Sometimes over and over and over again in the same wound.
She will never forget me or what she is. I made permanently sure.

Now comes the interesting part. Her existence welcomed me into the darkness of her heart.
I didn't always hate her.
There was some part of me still left that didn't have the heart to put all my effort into killing her. For a while.
I started to like it though.
I attempted and pretended to **** her a lot. More times than I can count on two hands. And I liked it. I scared her so much and I helped teach her her worthlessness. I helped open her eyes to how terrible she is.
And here's a secret. I made her love those headaches she got from lack of oxygen she got when I would tighten the noose around her neck.
I made her beg for death but took away her oppertunity.
I hit, punched, sleep deprived, cut, burned, carved, scratched, pulled out hair, force fed pills, mentally tortured and oxygent deprived this stupid, ugly, useless, unwanted, weak, pathetic girl.
However, I never fully followed through.
Which is why I can write this.
I don't know. No comment from my side.

the sand flows between my fingers. Giving me meaning. Making me feel like I am a master. For even as I cannot control the flow of the sand I cannot control the flow of time.


yet to have something I cannot control in the palm of my hand gives me mastery over it. It is mine. I can not stop the force only block it.


sand flows between my fingers. Corse yet smooth. Flowing yet sticking. Solid yet like liquid


I can stop it. No. Its all been a lie





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