(no subject)
This was writen on Hatelife but, the person who wrote it said I could print it out and I am gonna post it on here. Please dont take it unless you take the person's name who wrote it with you. Thank-You.
This is almost exactly how I feel about my life. It sucks.
Look at you... you're beautiful. Delicate and pliant in my rough, scarred hands. Pale and bony. Traced with purple scars. Scars that tell stories. Stories of sadness, of anger, of dejection. And rejection. Of lies, and hate and tears. My life. A story told in pain. Defined by scars.
I clutch your hand, tight as I can, until the bones show, and the joints are white. Pure white. I hold on so tight, I think I'll break your hand. I never want to let go. Don't rip it away. No, no.
Always, everything taken away.
Torn from me. You wrench my heart out with your bare hands. Watching, and laughing as I bleed to death on the ground. Other times, you touch me, lick me. Your soft fingers caress my body. I want to give in to you. Arch my back, moan in the taboo pleasure, but I can't. No, you're too warm, for me, you'll melt my frozen heart. Your warm blood flows too close to me. The happiness makes my heart explode. The blood running in heated rivers, down my naked body. Touch it. Look what you have done. Lick it off. Yes, this is the destruction you have created. I'm lying here dying, and you still deny me myself. Give it back! Give me back! You have taken everything from me. I can't think, can't breath, can't cut. All I can do is imagine you. Look at you, and drink in your beauty, your attraction. I want it. I want it all. Mine. My own. My precious. Posses me. Yes. Give me your spirit. The only beautiful thing I can see anymore.
You remember that time when we...? Yes, you do, you'll always remember. You saw me. See me. Always, you can. Imagine. Undress me with your eyes. What does it matter? My body is just a shell anyway. Soon to be discarded. How bizare to be buried when you die. How morbid. To be put in a box and preserved. I want my body to rot and spoil. To become part of the earth again. For what are our bodies but complex machines? Shells to house our minds and spirits, which, all too soon, expire.
I'm beautiful. You say I am. What is beauty? It's false, that's what. You tell me so you can touch me, so you can see me. So that I will let down my guards and surrender. You don't have to lie to me. You already have complete control. I shudder when you touch me. Always thirsting, lusting for more. I want it. Control me. Please. I don't know how to think for myself. I don't want to think for myself. Tell me what to do. I want you to. My job is to please. That's all I'm good for. Let me. Please. Tell me how.
I am nothing, without you.
Don't let me think about that. No. Please. Just help me. Look. Can't you see I'm dying here? I'm slowly bleeding to death in this heartless environment. This mindless school. I have no one without you. Don't leave me. Please. Just help me with my wounds. Help me with my blood. Touch it. See it. Examine it. Lap it up. Tend to my hurts, and help with my scars. Please. I need the assurance. The pain. The cleansing. Help me. Help me! The pain is the only thing holding me here. It, alone, reminds me that this is real. That life isn't just someone else's joke. That I'm not imagining everything. That I'm not imagining this. Please.
Please.
Please just touch me.