It doesn't matter if I'm a boy or a girl or both or neither, I'm empty inside. I have nothing for anyone to hold onto or to love. Nothing but lingering sadness and pain from years of neglect and mistreatment. And I try to cut it out, and I try to drown it and for a second, I do. For a second I think it's all okay. But what happens when there's nowhere else to cut and no other way to stop the pain? I'm left here with these bloody razors and this torn flesh and these empty bottles, and it's worse this time because I thought I beat it. There's nothing worse than a faux victory, especially when it's over a seemingly endless internal battle.
And then I stand up and I look in that mirror I think "thank god you're pretty cuz that's all you got". But then we dont always look perfect do we? Nobody feels pretty all the time, but when I don't I feel utterly non existent. I wana smash that mirror and slash my face with with those broken shards and then my wrists so maybe I can find some peace in the quiet.
But I don't. I find a dick to swallow to tell me I'm still worth something. So I can keep moving and floating around this spinning rock with some kind of purpose. I don't care what they want. I dont care what they need me to be. They can use me to build whatever fantasy they like. They can want a boy a girl a ->-bleeped-<- or child in me. They can touch me where they want and put their mouth where they want and everything else as long as they want me. As long as they tell me I have sexy eyes, full lips. Beautiful, soft skin. A tight, firm body. It's all theirs, no matter how ugly they are, if they just tell me they want it.
And for a second I feel worth something. I forget the reality. I let them call me angel and i let myself believe I'm more than what I am, because I let myself forget that I'm only beautiful on the outside, not within. A demons soul with an angel's face. And that might be arrogance, but if it is I've earned it by selling my soul to become this vapid, shallow wretch.
And when I'm alone, I am so utterly alone. When I can't take the stinking stench of semen for another second and retreat to solitude the loneliness weighs down on me so heavy I can hardly breathe. So I come here writing idle words. I have no way to express my emotions, beautifully. I'm not a singer or a songwriter, all I have are these convoluted thoughts that fall on deaf ears and mean nothing to anyone but myself.
I want to die young. My hair can't go grey, my eyes can't go dull. If my body isn't beautiful everyone will look past it, straight into the eyes of my empty soul and my black heart, and that loneliness will be eternal. Better to die before they see. Better to die and leave them longing and aching for that one thing I have to give, they want so badly, then to be totally forgotten.
I want to love truly but if I can't I'll have obsession. I want to be adored but if I can i'll be objectified. Anything so there's someone lying next to me. Anything so others care. Anything so I'm not alone with this nothingness.
