Post by TrappedDespair on Oct 13, 2003 20:29:07 GMT -5
I hate this family. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if they died. If they ascended into the unknown. Part of me might miss them… well some of them. But a thrill so deep so inhuman, like a starving animal finally catching a prey surges within me. This feeling fills me with a regret for what if these dreams came true. But these thoughts are a part of me. A dark part speaking to me. I know I long for them… I need them. They are my drugs. My mind feels so unnatural, so openly abused yet no one helps me. I want to kill. Feel a life slowly, meaninglessly leave the host while my hands choke off all hope. They did this to me, my soul. They strangled off the love. Love… what a useless word. It gets no where. And then there is that feeling, that promise. They say they love me then burn me alive. No wonder my mind has erected a battle fortress against it. A useless fortress that one has easily penetrated. One who does no wrong yet… but it will come it always does. I have learned so… from my family, the one I hate. They say that I will understand. That they understand they were young once too. But only my body is young I, my heart is old, is weathered from this on going war. They don’t know me not even a little, not at all. The scars which I conceal like a blemish masked in cover up. The longest one, the deepest one still oozing tear stained blood. It’s for the one who broke into me. Who I have told all my thoughts and yet does nothing. I wait for a lashing and you don’t move. You fill me with your love, my love for you and that hurts the most. It’s branded onto my life, it kills me. Like a fish introduced to air and yet you do nothing. Just love me. How can you stand it? A monster, a beast ravaging the landscape. Ask my thoughts and I will tell. Of how I hate me the most. This thing no one understands. I want to kill it I hate it. I hate me. My life is gone. It’s dead. I am the killer. But it makes no difference who drives the knife. I am here to fill this shell. But I am only a figment of what I had. I hate me, them, all but one. All but one, eating me alive.