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#inferioritycomplex
There is a subtle emptiness Placing a shutter, blankest white Before the dripping ink of night Cupped in the brown they call my eyes. The pounding of a silent voice Upon the bottom of my mind. A wordless tremble in my hands, Some concrete in my smile. Oh well, I murmured to the voice, What matter if I don’t rejoice? A passing whim, a selfish choice, Then I’ll be fine tomorrow.   The giants, oh! They raise their arms,   Pulling the membrane off the moon,   Unveiling core of blinding light,   A blossom of sundews.   My giant! Love! A chandelier,   Glaring upon my feverish skull,   Your smile of stone and eyes of ink,   Thee is a subtle emptiness,   My dear, you truly make me sick,   Both arrogance and self-hatred,   An inner eye that never blinks,   That never looks outside yourself.
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Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 5:48 AM UTC
ms.Perfect and her voices
**** you! How dare you spurn my words. With you it's never what I said, but what you think you heard. How dare you doubt the nature of my truth; would I say that you are beautiful and mean anything less? How dare you call me a liar, and hold under my feet such a fire, and beg me "Confess! You think I'm ugly, it's true! How could I be perfect as you?" I don't point out my own flaws; in your eyes they're not there. I don't hold up a mirror to my face for you to see my sunken eyes, I don't list you every lie, or tell you of all my crimes, I don't quibble and deface what you hold beyond any compare. I just grin, and say "Thanks," and let it rest there. And I try to make you understand, but you turn me away, and now I'm done wasting air. There's nothing left to explain. You were beautiful when I said it, now you're ugly in vain. And could you see that for truth, you'd be beautiful once again. But it doesn't matter; You're too busy raging with spittle, to listen to the truth that I've painstakingly shown. And I'm too busy loving you to allow your beauty to not shine through, So, I take my leave of you, tears marring that face you claimed to love so, heading into the unknown, Oh, **** you, again! My words; my feelings are not yours but my own. If my feelings mean so little, Then be ugly alone.
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
The Limit