Tuesday, June 23, 2009

The man in the corner.

I'm the one everyone secretly wants to kill.
Ripping out hair whilst curled in a ball, screaming to the man in the corner that I don't want it anymore... Trying to figure out what the hell happened.
Wake up feeling tired and realizing I've made some awful mistakes in the past week and wishing I had a set of arms to fold myself into. Just for one minute, so I can hide my face to cry and not let these thoughts dropping like flies force my heart to stop.
Fuck it. I know I am on the very fucking edge right now. I want to jump, jump because it will make things easier but I'm so scared I'll make things so much worse.
Crying to the man in the corner to do it again so I can feel something real.
Wishing I was back when it all started, when everything was perfect, when everything was simply wonderful... Or, when I thought it was.
Screaming to the man in the corner to explain to me what the fuck I am, and all he does is smile this dirty smile.
I know I got what I wanted, because I didn't want it. Why do these things? To fuck myself up worse than before, obviously.
Then cry to the man in the corner that I want my mind back.
And something else, too.
Fucking build up. Take some of this pressure off me! Sometimes I wish there was somebody else in my life I wasn't terrified of other than imaginary friend.
Oh, but there is, but he's gone for good. Gone for good. Gone for good. Gone for good. Up and left me after turning me inside out. What a fucking cunt.
Begging the man in the corner to make things better, to make things worse, to cut me up and lick my wounds. And he obliges, dark materials to cover up the marks he left, a perfect disguise behind hevay painted eyes.
I'm sick. Of me.
Why won't I just fuck off!?
Crying to the man in the corner to heal my fractured mind, to take away the constant anxiety because evryone is out to get me, ad if he can't fix me up nice and proper...
Well, why not just kill me?
What a cunt.


  1. These words might sound quiter than intended, coming through the veil and all, but
    or better yet, get out of your city, get out of fortress of knives, if they keep cutting you up.
    Flee to something like comfort, if real comfort is still sold out.
    They will re-stock the shelves in time.
    Life in reality is like this at times,
    but i urge you with the most sincerity i can encode into a string of zeros and ones, stay in reality.
    As you said, it would be so much worse if your frustrated heart were no longer bleeding.
    As much as it stings when your blood boils,
    I'm sure it's still blue when de-oxygenated

    red when your skin whispers to you 'pain'

    and cold when you're sprinting towards what you want.


  2. NR has the poetry. LOOK AT THAT SHIT.
    Fuck off, past me. I dunno why you won't fuck off, either. Your words are bullshit. >:[