Liar

I lie.

Drive a knife through my heart

Watch the blood pour from my chest

Give me freedom

Give me death

Oh how I wish I never lived

Dream I used the knife all those years ago

I wish i hadn’t stopped myself

Blood is beautiful. So very… beautiful and mesmerizing.

The crimson, perfectly round droplet rolls down his arm.

Oh so perfect.

Flawless.

The pain is… just right.

Just right for it to hurt.

Just right for it to silence the negative thoughts.

There’s no reason for me not to stab

Not to twist

Plunge it deep

Make it squeak. Squeal and scream.

Oh it would be a dream.

To watch, to stab to watch it die.

Have her life flash before her eyes.

There is not a reason not to kill.

There is not a reason for her not to squeal.

Maybe the law might raise a flag.

Maybe she won’t make a sound through a rag.

But what fun would a rag be? Maybe a knife would silence it better.

I find myself wondering.

If not murder, why not suffering?

The issue is, for her to suffer, I’d be to blame.

She’d yell, be mean. All to me.

A punching bag is the role. The scapegoat if you’re feeling fancy.

That’s what I am. The role I play.

I cannot allow her a moment to scream.

I wish to yell at the top of my lungs. I wish to be heard across the land.

I am not a good person

When people are in need… suddenly I wish to no longer be good. When people suffer why am I meant to feel like it’s my responsibility to scream?

I have no voice for myself. Why would I have a voice for them? Why do I have to help them if not even my own friends hear my screams?

I hate him. I hate everything about him. Which means I hate everything about me. Because everything that he is, I am.

Every time I speak, I hear him.

Every single message I type, every single word I say. It’s him.

My tone, my voice, my intonation, my accent. It’s all fucking him!

I can’t even speak without hating every second of it.

I can’t look at books I used to love the same.

You remind me of sunrises by the beach. A gentle breeze, with soft sand beneath your feet. Last rays of the sun changing the sky into a bountiful array of pink and orange shades.

I lied to you, and now I can feel myself falling in love with you.

Each time you speak, my day brightens.

Each time you giggle, my heart melt.

Every little tease, nagging and flirt makes me giddy like a bird with a cracker.

I feel like I’m on cloud nine… yet I’m on the ground.

I am firmly aware of the restrictions I’ve put on myself.

The lies I’ve told.

I’m no lover, I’m a liar.

I lied not to protect myself…

I didn’t lie to make myself feel better.

I didn’t lie to protect you.

I lied… because it seemed fun.

I lied because I was bored.

I lied without a reason.

And now… this lie… is me.

The lie is how you see me.

The lie is what I’ve made myself to be.

I regret lying.

Yet I don’t.

I don’t know if it’s a lie…

Is it true to me now?

I fell happy and giddy… yet I can’t keep a smile without it going strained.

I don’t want you to know the truth. And I don’t want you to live in a lie.

I won’t apologize… even though that’s what I wish to write.

I don’t feel sorry.

Immediately when we met in wc l felt a soft little green. A good vibe.

As a little girl walked inside of a room, ready to wander the world.

She was send here. Like everyone else.

She seemed to get lost. Trying to find a way, the way.

She couldn’t find it.

For a long time it seemed like she never will. She was lost.

Or was she?

What she didn’t know is that people were waiting at the other side. Calling out.

The thing is.

She never walked out of there.

She never did. She wasn’t meant to.

Oh what is that?

A young man came out. He held a resemblance to the little girl. But... He seemed happy. Happier then the little girl ever was.

He was free, and ready.

Ready to take on the challenges thrown at him.

He walked his path and he continues to walk it.

It isn’t easy. But he made it this far.

It’s fascinating what a few lines of text can do.

A book can be written.

Or an idea can be shared.

Just like a community can rise.

A friendship gained, or a friendship ruined.

A romance started.

Or a paper with major significance. One declaring peace, while another separating a pair forever.

There’s many things you can do with your words.

You can start a dispute.

Or motivate the masses.

You can be rich! Or destroy the rich.

You can start an uprising! Or shut it down.

And yet. People forget the most common use of text. The one you see the most.

Or not enough of.

One meant to make you smile, one meant to help.

It’s everywhere, hidden among the hate.

That’s why it means a lot when someone uses their words for simple pleasures.

Have you ever opened a gift and you hated it? But… everyone was looking at you and expected you to love it?

The next gift is the exact same but in green. The next is in pink, the next in red, and next in yellow and another one in red.

They are all the same. You hate them equally.

But you’re supposed to love every single one. You’re supposed to be happy, show a smile, be grateful… but you hate them all.

It doesn’t matter that they tried. They tried yes, but they tried for themselves.

Not for me.

It was never about me.

The gift was for me, but it wasn’t. It was just given to me for them to feel good.

It never made me happy.

It never made me glad.

I had nothing.

I gained so many things, but I didn’t gain anything.

All I have is just more junk but I can’t be angry.

There’s a man that never was and never will.

A man of broken will, a man of teeth and bone, of blood and skin.

A man who’s good deeds were never heard. A man who’s crimes were never accounted for.

The one that never existed, the one that never lived.

Never once did he smile, never once shed a tear.

His hand was never held, his gaze was never felt.

A word never uttered, a lesson never learned.

A place never occupied, or an empty place to be left behind.

Not a shard of glass, nor a rusty door.

There was never a mother to mourn the man, a friend or father to hold his dying hand. A child to mourn a father, a partner to mourn their lover.

As there was no one left alive to know the man that never was.

He never lived, he never loved.

And therefore, couldn’t be loved.