(Escapism means "the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy.")
I lie awake in bed.
Its 11 in the morning.
Its 4 at night.
I'm tired and I want to not think about it anymore.
I'm tired and I only want to think about it anymore.
You trace my mind, like a fairy in skates.
Like a demon with claws.
Its so nice to get away.
I dont want to cry.
Not over that.
I'd rather choke.
You make me sick.
Whats that thing you said though?
You're so sweet its so alarming, who taught you that?
Oh, don't go though...
I dont want to be alone...
Not again, I hate that thing.
You make me nauseous.
I choke on my own thoughts at the thought of you, you pig.
I hate it when you touch me.
I hate it when you flirt with me.
I hate it when you pretend like nothings wrong.
I hate everything about you, and yet...?
We are friends?
We are enemies?
I dont care.
Don't remind me.
Hmm.
But you are such a sweetheart.
You're so nice to me, I need that.
You know what I need and you know what I want.
You're so lovely, I'd like a kiss but I dont want to be weird.
You know what to do and thats so beautiful to me love.
But.
You don't know who I am, do you?
YOU ARE READING
Painfully Realistic
General FictionThis book isn't Fiction. This book isn't Nonfiction. This book is about things that we see happening every single day but don't talk about. About things, we see at school. At work. Down the block. At the coffee shop. Things we see everywhere...
