Unknown double life

Vocear

Paths lead to places, and some people call that "life";
I don't know how to walk through a path, all I know is how to crawl in hell. And I'm pretty good at it.

What good is there in being intelligent, self aware or caring when the only thing I'm seen as is... tits?
I'm "exotic", "smart", "different", "pretty" (?); but I shall not speak my mind without everyone freaking out and running away.
I'm just a body others use to satisfy themselves. What makes me human is unnecessary to be shared or felt. It's not pleasant or worth it; just a messed up combination of cells that will turn into ashes. For now, I'm a good girl.

-For fucks sake; how much water can my eyes hold?!-

You people like my smile? It's as fake and as weak as the love that made me.
I'm scared. And scary.
Of course I dance with my demons. They are the only ones that stayed around because they wanted to.

-someone please make it stop!-

I used to smile mischievously while I was creating marks on my body. Now I'm wiser, and know that cutting is used as evidence to call me insane. So I smile when I'm dying inside. I'm a good girl.

Getting drunk to the point of not knowing what was happening around me was the normal technique to cope with pain. Now, I only drink a bare minimum every few months and hate not being aware of my surroundings. I still hurt like hell, but the self punishment is invisible to others; so I'm more like what society wants me to be. I'm a good girl.

-"it's the woman in you that makes you wanna play this game."-

As a former compulsive liar, I swore over the little one's life I'd never lie to a person I love again. Somehow kept that promise. Still no one believes me. Or in me. But I'm a good girl.

People usually feel jealousy when they don't think they are good enough and they compare themselves to others. I'm not a jealous person because of course I know I'm no good at all.

"What dreams may come" spoiled my expectations of life. I'd walk through hell to see my grandma just one more time and for a fraction of a second, even if then I had to spend eternity there without her recognizing me.

A few months after she left me, I was told I wasn't normal (again) because I would still cry her. It's been almost 3 years and I still die a little (more) when the word "missing" doesn't get close to the emptiness in my soul every time her absence is tangible. Am I normal now?

-When you think you can hurt me, you're thinking of me! That's cute! That you think there's something in me that's not broken already.-

I shall never love again, open up to anyone, let my pain be seen where it hasn't been seen before or attempt to have a family. In the end, I'm not evil; and no one should have to put up with me. Not even my kid.

My voice got tired of asking for help to no avail;
Now I'm screaming for my life to end while I hold on to those eyes that look right into my soul and tell me that somehow I'm loved.

-He can see right through me, when others can't acknowledge I have a soul?-

The main thing I fantasize with daily that creates a sincere smile on my face is death. The second one is you.