you make me hate what i love
that's how much control you have over me
you don't even realise it
what you're doing to me
i've always feared that i'll become you
yet somehow that doesn't stop me from becoming you
fearing the worst doesn't stop the worst from coming
why is it that i fear becoming you
yet love you at once?
your love for me
sickens me
no one should love me that much
not me, never me
loving me will only hurt you
is it horrible that your heartbreak brings me relief?
"good,"
i find myself thinking
"now you understand,
now you'll stay away"
i really hope you'll stay away
i'm not worth it
i leave behind nothing to this world
so why should anyone put in any effort?
"a human being's desire,"
i read
"it's to never be forgotten
forever."
that part makes me blink
the next part makes me never blink
"that is why we write our names
in a foggy mirror."
or on a school desk
or when we think of anything to write
i will be forgotten
i don't affect the world
(if i do,
it won't be due to my kindness)
history won't write my name down
i bring nothing to no one
if i am equal to nothing
then why am i here?
i am the same as nothingness
i am nothingness
i am nothing
and no one should love nothing
no one should worry over nothing
no one should care
not about nothing
nothing is not worth it
(isn't that a real doozy?)
i once read a story
about a girl in a red
"i'm just a substitute,"
she said
she lived in the end
i didn't like that ending
i didn't agree with it
with how she let go of that knife
i will live
but i will not be alive
for to be alive is to be remembered
and i am too worthless for that
the least i can do
is make you hate me
the least i can do
is drive you away
i remember feeling this
i remember always feeling this
but
now
it's
different
i always feel like this
but it's never this extreme
(not always)
i remember that girl
and i remember wanting to be her
but people would notice
if i do what i wish
they'll notice
and ask me what's wrong
and if i tell them
they'll think that i'm wrong
(they'll try to fix me
i don't want to be fixed)
a dear friend of mine reads this
i'll tell her to stop
she'll say the same things
they all keep saying the same things
one year ago i wrote to myself
in a place where only i would look,
"you're still drowning
aren't you?"
i think she's laughing
my past self that is
she's laughing because it's funny
and because it hurts
she knows this will happen
that this will never go away
she'll never stop laughing
i keep hearing her laugh
every day
every second
every everything
she keeps laughing
she sees
everything
she sees what's about to happen
she can't do anything about it
(trust me
she tried)
(for eternity
she tried)
(and she'll keep trying
she's trying even now)
(i'm trying)
but it won't help
inevitable is irreversable
she and i
we have one thing in common
we see our future
and glimpses of everyone else's
and we try to change it
(heh, as if we're powerful enough)
(as if we have any power at all)
("notice how it all is a mess,"
she's whispering right now)
("notice how this is
slowly
ever so slowly
turning into chaos?")
i lied
she isn't from the past
she's just me
and yet she's a stranger
and unknown
(i hear people say things
before they say them)
(wow this really is a mess
"a chaotic beauty"
wouldn't you agree?
(that sounds cool, doesn't it?))
i sometimes predict the future
that's not the issue
the issue is that i keep having hope
thinking i can change it
or at least make people see it too
(they never do)
i keep trying to explain
and they keep ignoring me
they don't get it
(i think i'm starting to accept that they never will)
oh, how i wish to be the girl in red
only my fate won't end like hers
her ending is wrong
empty even
mine will satisfy me
(that is if i ever am brave enough to make my own end)
my dear friend
if she ever reads this
i fear she'll be like the rest
greatly disturbed
"don't lose hope,"
she keeps telling me
i love her for that
i love her hope
but she's not me
no one is me
but me
i fear it's all coming back
what happened in the past
it's happening now
and it'll continue to happen
again
and again
and again
over
and over
and over
(editing this will be a bitch)
(ha ha, i'm being meta
don't look at me like that)
yes,
i see you
you are me
and i see you
disgust
apathy
offness
humor
which will it be?
which version will you be?
(oh, wow
this is a mess)
(oh, wow
i am a mess)
(hey, look
isn't that funny)
i fear they'll read this
and ask me what it means
i know i'll deny
and lie
and smile
and one day die
i know me
i know my fate
(or at least i think i do
at least i know some of it)
i am at peace with it
but they will never be
i don't remember a time
where i don't want to die
(yeah, i said it
i finally fucking said it)
the feeling changes
but it never disappears
sometimes it's close
sometimes it's far
it's like the rain
the way it shifts constantly
from drizzling
to pouring
to lightly tapping
(almost like a clock's tick tock)
to nothing
(oh,
i came up with a better methapor)
or better yet
like the sun
sometimes it's hidden
sometimes it shines
sometimes it hides
sometimes it dies
(it doesn't make sense
i'm sticking to it)
but it never disappears
it's always there
even when i can't see it
and isn't it funny
that i compare this to the sun
(a toxicity that's too rational
to an icon of happiness)
i'm sick
i think it's why i'm writing this
why isn't there an "in vinos veritas"
but for illness?
in sickness
there is truth
in sickness
the camel's back breaks
in sickness
the dam breaks
in sickness
there is no lie
in sickness
all should be revealed
(we're too distressed about the sickness to be distressed over everything else)
(nothing matters but the pain)
everything is escaping me
i wish to stop typing
(i should've typed "written
that sounds better)
i fear more words will pour out of me
when i close my eyes
they keep appearing that way
when i long for it the least
(ha
i sound so old-timey)
my brother once told me
that i keep changing
"it's like you're a shapeshifter,"
he said (not really)
"you keep changing
you're never the same
from the way you move
to the way you speak
to your personality
to your everything
it's kind of strange,"
he said (definitely not)
if you're not me
you'll look deeper
analyse each word
figure out what they mean
don't,
i advice you
you'll never know
only i will know
because that's it with art
you stare into blankness
and conjure something into it
something familiar
something that means something
they'll never know
that nothing's there
it makes me laugh
(i'm always laughing
and i hear her laughing
the her that is me
she's close to me
so close i can hear my ears ringing)
(my ears will never stop ringing
she'll never stop laughing)
what matters to them the most about art
is the part that's nothing
(i won't remember what i deleted
or will i?)
(i think i will
otherwise i am more sick than i thought)
(will i remember what i mean by that?)
(i'm already starting to forget)
(my mind is fuzzy)
(the clock is ticking)
(where was i going with this?)
the secret to art
is to leave nothingness in them
leave pieces of nothingness
for them to fill in
never let anything be concrete
always leave it to their interpretations
(i'm forgetting
i'll forget this too)
there should be a nice end to this
there isn't