I walk the icy streets alone. Couples with linked arms walk around me. Couples and friends.
I listen to the lonely beep of my apartment card in the security door.
I'm alone in the elevator. Through the elevator glass I watch the city plunge into darkness. I see a single figure faraway, my heart beats for a second. I watch for a moment in hope, that there is another single figure in this city. The distant figure breaks into two.
Two figures walking side by side on the icy paths.
I walk into the empty apartment. The heat greets me in silence. Pounding into my body. I quietly take off my jacket. It's not warm though. This overheated apartmen
I love myself.
I love my poorly shaped body, and the unsmoothness of my skin.
I love the dark circles under my eyes, and my one crooked tooth.
I love my height being nothing special not tall or short.
I love my multipling grey hairs.
I love the way I bite my nails into brittle stumps whenever I'm stressed.
I love the strangely wide shape of my feet.
I love the way my freckles cover my face and body.
I love that my stretch marks are so dense they change the shape of my skin.
I love the winkles under my eyes, and the strange pig like dent in my nose.
I love that I can say love when I mean hate...
I shouldn't feel this way but I do.
I want to take everything from a person,
everything they own and love and then throw them away.
And find another person. And do it again and again and again.
There is a darkness in me.
It longs for this, longs to take control.
It wants to be wild...
To hurt everything and feel nothing.
It's a game. A game a game a game.
A sick game.
Your emotions are a play thing.
My emotions are untouchable.
Wouldn't it feel good not to feel?
I'd take it all then.
But then there's me.. forcing myself to sit still and quiet.
Don't move don't speak.
Don't say how you feel if it will hurt someone.
That's me. That
It's just another poem, it's just another play, it's just another word I edited away.
Your fake, fake, fake. Your smile and your face.
Inside of you is nothing, and that won't go away.
Upset they cry, you want to make it stop.
Not because you care.
Annoying. The reactions are annoying.
Stop talking is all you want to scream.
You offer comfort that you don't really feel.
If they think it is, does that make it real?
I walk the icy streets alone. Couples with linked arms walk around me. Couples and friends.
I listen to the lonely beep of my apartment card in the security door.
I'm alone in the elevator. Through the elevator glass I watch the city plunge into darkness. I see a single figure faraway, my heart beats for a second. I watch for a moment in hope, that there is another single figure in this city. The distant figure breaks into two.
Two figures walking side by side on the icy paths.
I walk into the empty apartment. The heat greets me in silence. Pounding into my body. I quietly take off my jacket. It's not warm though. This overheated apartmen
I love myself.
I love my poorly shaped body, and the unsmoothness of my skin.
I love the dark circles under my eyes, and my one crooked tooth.
I love my height being nothing special not tall or short.
I love my multipling grey hairs.
I love the way I bite my nails into brittle stumps whenever I'm stressed.
I love the strangely wide shape of my feet.
I love the way my freckles cover my face and body.
I love that my stretch marks are so dense they change the shape of my skin.
I love the winkles under my eyes, and the strange pig like dent in my nose.
I love that I can say love when I mean hate...
I shouldn't feel this way but I do.
I want to take everything from a person,
everything they own and love and then throw them away.
And find another person. And do it again and again and again.
There is a darkness in me.
It longs for this, longs to take control.
It wants to be wild...
To hurt everything and feel nothing.
It's a game. A game a game a game.
A sick game.
Your emotions are a play thing.
My emotions are untouchable.
Wouldn't it feel good not to feel?
I'd take it all then.
But then there's me.. forcing myself to sit still and quiet.
Don't move don't speak.
Don't say how you feel if it will hurt someone.
That's me. That
It's just another poem, it's just another play, it's just another word I edited away.
Your fake, fake, fake. Your smile and your face.
Inside of you is nothing, and that won't go away.
Upset they cry, you want to make it stop.
Not because you care.
Annoying. The reactions are annoying.
Stop talking is all you want to scream.
You offer comfort that you don't really feel.
If they think it is, does that make it real?