Typical...
I would like to make it known that this is just a piece of writing. It explains a lot how I feel, but I'm not saying hey, look what I did Friday night. Or am I? My cats are declawed.
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I look at the clock; it's 12:58 am. I strip down to my boxers. I lay down, and stare at the ceiling for what seems like an hour. 1:04 . It's still early, maybe I can sleep tonight.
I slowly glance over my practically naked body; I hate it. Cuts and scars. They remind me that the pain I feel is real. It's not something I can hide from much longer. I slip under the covers, and turn to my side. I run my hand gently over my most recent tragedy. It's deep; my entire left arm is in pain.
I haven't slept in days. I turn over again, and lay staring at the blank wall for hours and hours. I'm tired, but I can't sleep; all I feel is the hollow, and the emptiness. It's another one of those nights. I'm so alone that it hurts. Every cell and fiber of my being is crying, but I just lay here.
The darkness surrounds me, and I think of you. It stings, and hurts, but at the same time I find some small bit of comfort. I hate this. I sit up, and pick up the phone. 2:35. Fuck. The sound of your voice would calm me; I know it. Your face is like home, and I find comfort in the darkness when thinking of you.
I wonder; do you ever think of me? Recently, I've started to doubt it. We haven't spoken much, and I miss you. The way you talk... the way it makes me feel. Like there's hope, and that I belong, and that I've finally found someone I'm comfortable with.
She loves me, she loves me not. I'm wasting time, but I've made up my mind. If time is all there is keeping us apart, I can wait. A week, a month, even a year. Is it worth it? Something tells me I could fail to hold your interest long enough. Something tells me I'm going to rip my heart into pieces again.
I'm stupid; I tricked myself. Everyone will break your heart once, and this time it was my turn. I've always wondered what it's like to break someones heart, so why not my own? I hate it. This is what having a broken heart really feels like. All those times before; that wasn't heart break. Yeah, sure it hurt, but this is it. I've never felt like this before.
And maybe I'm just setting myself up again. Maybe, I could just wait for that year to have my heart torn into a million pieces. It wouldnt surprise me; I'm more or less a tragedy magnet.
I can't help it. I feel for you so deeply, and it's this feeling that makes me want to hold on. I can't give up now.
I look at the clock again. 4:19. I betrayed myself... how could I? I told myself I would never do this again. I would never get close enough to another person for them to hurt me. This is worse. Close enough to hurt myself?
I climb out of bed, and walk into the bathroom. It's cold, and I turn on the light. I look at myself in the mirror. Something is missing. I can't take it anymore, this feeling of emptiness. I'm starting to shake, but I open the medicine cabinet anyway.
Safety knife, razor blade... it doesn't matter. We as people get over things more easily in anger. In this moment, I hate myself. I hate that I betrayed myself, and more importantly I hate what I'm about to do. Tracing. Tracing. Tracing...
I know it's wrong, but it's one of the only effective ways I have found to express myself. To feel something other than lonely. This is a different kind of pain that is preferable to that hollow, and that sorrow.
The warm blood runs down my arm. Life is pain, I might as well embrace it. If this is the way to get you to see, then so be it. I write my message, over and over again until the walls are crimson. Over and over again, it reads:
I love you even though it isn't fair.
-----
I look at the clock; it's 12:58 am. I strip down to my boxers. I lay down, and stare at the ceiling for what seems like an hour. 1:04 . It's still early, maybe I can sleep tonight.
I slowly glance over my practically naked body; I hate it. Cuts and scars. They remind me that the pain I feel is real. It's not something I can hide from much longer. I slip under the covers, and turn to my side. I run my hand gently over my most recent tragedy. It's deep; my entire left arm is in pain.
I haven't slept in days. I turn over again, and lay staring at the blank wall for hours and hours. I'm tired, but I can't sleep; all I feel is the hollow, and the emptiness. It's another one of those nights. I'm so alone that it hurts. Every cell and fiber of my being is crying, but I just lay here.
The darkness surrounds me, and I think of you. It stings, and hurts, but at the same time I find some small bit of comfort. I hate this. I sit up, and pick up the phone. 2:35. Fuck. The sound of your voice would calm me; I know it. Your face is like home, and I find comfort in the darkness when thinking of you.
I wonder; do you ever think of me? Recently, I've started to doubt it. We haven't spoken much, and I miss you. The way you talk... the way it makes me feel. Like there's hope, and that I belong, and that I've finally found someone I'm comfortable with.
She loves me, she loves me not. I'm wasting time, but I've made up my mind. If time is all there is keeping us apart, I can wait. A week, a month, even a year. Is it worth it? Something tells me I could fail to hold your interest long enough. Something tells me I'm going to rip my heart into pieces again.
I'm stupid; I tricked myself. Everyone will break your heart once, and this time it was my turn. I've always wondered what it's like to break someones heart, so why not my own? I hate it. This is what having a broken heart really feels like. All those times before; that wasn't heart break. Yeah, sure it hurt, but this is it. I've never felt like this before.
And maybe I'm just setting myself up again. Maybe, I could just wait for that year to have my heart torn into a million pieces. It wouldnt surprise me; I'm more or less a tragedy magnet.
I can't help it. I feel for you so deeply, and it's this feeling that makes me want to hold on. I can't give up now.
I look at the clock again. 4:19. I betrayed myself... how could I? I told myself I would never do this again. I would never get close enough to another person for them to hurt me. This is worse. Close enough to hurt myself?
I climb out of bed, and walk into the bathroom. It's cold, and I turn on the light. I look at myself in the mirror. Something is missing. I can't take it anymore, this feeling of emptiness. I'm starting to shake, but I open the medicine cabinet anyway.
Safety knife, razor blade... it doesn't matter. We as people get over things more easily in anger. In this moment, I hate myself. I hate that I betrayed myself, and more importantly I hate what I'm about to do. Tracing. Tracing. Tracing...
I know it's wrong, but it's one of the only effective ways I have found to express myself. To feel something other than lonely. This is a different kind of pain that is preferable to that hollow, and that sorrow.
The warm blood runs down my arm. Life is pain, I might as well embrace it. If this is the way to get you to see, then so be it. I write my message, over and over again until the walls are crimson. Over and over again, it reads:
I love you even though it isn't fair.