I don't know what to call it. It's this odd need for pain. You would think that it's so typical. Pain, draw the blade, stop messing around. The problem is that it's always so easy to draw pretty pictures when you can do it behind closed doors and hide behind your scars. My problem is that I don't need to draw on myself. I don't make pretty pictures, my skin is not my canvas. I want you to be my canvas, I want your scream to mix in with the beautiful music, I want to draw all over you and make art. But that's never as easy as hiding in the bathroom. It's never as easy stopping your mind from wandering back. See someone and imagining how their voice would sound if it went all high pitched. Think how long it would take for them to crack under the psychological pressure. Even less finesse is fine. How bones break, how you could so easily hurt and leave no marks. It's what I struggle with. It's what I have to keep myself from each day I look someone in the eyes and see their mind layed out in front of me, a map to insanity. A map that I can read with the ease of a practised eye. A few words from me and you'll look at me with pain in your eyes that you haven't felt in ages, pain you hid away. In a way that's better than anything else
CITEȘTI
When You're All Alone
AlteleInspired by a fellow writer, I have decided to do some personal writing. Even though it wasn't meant like that, thank you EchoD. Even though you are always the person than can't take the first step, thanks for inspiring me to let go.
