EbabIetiac

When i reach down deep inside of me, buried beneath the drugs and weightless happy, I find her. She is much like me, though contrary to popular belief, I am not like her. She is my darkness. She wrote her fears in her skin and on paper, ink and blood making no difference to the words that rushed from her anxious pores. A scratched black gem of sorts, if analogies could be so accurate. Her self concious stature proved too much for many, this constant ring in the back of her head, three words always loudest: "never good enough" When I let her talk, she's brutal. Bruises to an already marred mind, she's not kind to herself or anyone else.

I'll keep living 'till I'm perfect, a foerever-ageless circus. I'll run 'till my lungs explode, until my pulse is no more. When breathing interrupts the silence, inhale exhale, Deaths' defiance. Scars that carry across my eyes, truth bleeding from every pore. I find the metaphorical stregnth to keep the stitches in their places. The only things that binds my mind, little strings dissolving within sewd skin. No where is safe for those left behind, disintegrating, deformed, defined. Perfection as a corpse. A perfect end.

I fear his rejection. His absolute revolt. I crave his time. His defiant attention. His reasonable rebellion towards the idea of me and him is justified. Nontheless, still painful to watch our friendshp crack as the attraction multiplies. I want to stop hiding from how I feel. Start embracing the way looking at him makes my heart skip. the fact that everytime i see him, regardless of mood, my day gets better. I want to know when i will deserve enough respect in his eyes to be seen as his friend, and not his best friends ex... but maybe it's wrongful of me to ask for such things.

She's scarred with broken promises and lies she could not hide. Ex-friends and past relations all subside into her mind. Bruised with doubt and hatred, she drowns in her own guilt. Suffice to say, she died that day, splintered coffin now rebuilt. Fortunetly, this story, does not end in tragedy. She said sorry, moved on with her habits, obsessions that consumed her life. Swollen knuckles show lack of self restraint, but she didn't mean to hurt what little she had left. Shear accident lead her to a trench in the deep of her mind. Leagues deep, miles wide, no air to breathe, she left behind a memory. Dropped it down and there it sat

I'm high. I dunno bout you.