It was never about being lovely. I'm not at all appealing, and I don't wish to be. I don't deceive myself that I ever was or ever will be. It is that this miserable vessel that does not merit anything pleasurable. I inhabit this reality where I am the sole complication. If I am in a life, I will shatter all.
I starved my body for two weeks once, until I was ravenous, and only ended it by gobbling down half a large pizza, just to convince my father I was alright. That was the head of the snake of deception. Pizza I'm fine, Thanksgiving dinner I'm fine, Christmas lunch I'm fine, Birthday breakfast I'm fine, Easter candy I'm fine.
After the beginning weeks pain became my enslavement. The cascade of blood is absolutely enrapturing. The itch that calls from under my skin has the most alluring voice, and though I have the deepest yearning to stop the beautiful voice, make it disappear and stop dragging me to this source of pain that not only hurts myself I can't.
I stayed for the ache of life, then I found one other affliction not long after, others happiness. I thought if I could bring satisfaction, see the joy light up the faces around me I could stay alive. I live for everyone.... Anyone but myself, yet still I cannot request comfort.
There is a screeching demon that only I can hear, wailing for any form of relief. I can quiet her, but it takes some aid. I can go to others, being with people makes it simpler to smile, that never keeps though. Drugs are where I turn next, ones that can take me away from my mind for a bit, yet it always crashes back in a matter of hours. The blade can bring the beauty and release of a horrible itch for only a day, to less than a second.
I scream for guidance, but never loudly enough. My voice is less than a whisper against the Calls of those who have made my muddled mind something romanticized and beautiful, those who take the power from me by spitting fake facts. I will never escape this, because I am stuck in something loathsome and agonizing, not something glamorous.
