SAVE ME // POETRY & PROSE

xxxvii. i am

XXXVII. I AM

i am made up of greed, and envy, and pain, and misery, and god awful thoughts and a black heart.

i have only become more heartless and merciless with the passing of the years, i will do whatever it takes to get what i want. i need to be the best, and i don't care who i damage in the way.

( but still, i can't say no )

i have been painted as the kindest angel ever since i was born, but that perfect picture has been torn and falling apart for too long.
but i keep the act up, because i can't bear to let down the ones who see me as the last good thing in the world - heaven only knows how i'm possibly made of the same matter their nightmares lay upon.

i like to believe i am more than despair. i like to believe i'm made of flowers, and sunsets, and sunrises, and forests bursting with life, and waves crashing against the shore, and joyful thoughts and a pure heart. but, well, dear someone, i am not.
the flowers have writhed, the sun has never risen or set again, the forests have died, the sea is ecstatic, joyful thoughts have been expelled from my mind and my heart ... is it even there?

i'm sorry mother, i'm sorry father, i am not who you think i am. i'm so much more than you could ever fathom - in the worst way possible.

i truthfully think time has not made me any better, it has only poisoned me more ( and i question if i ever want to be cured ).

everyone leaves in the end and there's a voice in my head constantly reminding me that happiness is fleeting, hope is nothing but a mere illusion and soulmates most definitely don't exist.

so why should i be soft and tender when i can be flaming steel and sharp teeth?

-- to someone who might care, this is what i've become. and perhaps i'm not all that bothered by it.