#c3h8o

—it’s exactly 0913 hours, and I already want to hit something. My knuckles ache to be used, be split open. I want to make it hurt.

—I often wonder if I am truly a human.

—My parents were good people. They are good people. They try their best. It’s only a matter of pain. My heart hurts.

—Why can’t I remember what I did last week?

—I want to kiss her. I want to give her something, but all I have is this body. She smells like flowers, everything about her is so soft… what the hell could someone like that get from me? A taste of animalistic brutality?

—what do you do when you’re stronger than the monsters under your covers?

—I had a horrible nightmare. I don’t remember what it was, but I was disgusted.

—all I ever think about these days is sex and violence, and the two have become intertwined for me.

—I’m going to die alone, surrounded by people who never knew me.

—When I kill myself eventually, what caliber should I use? I want the blood splatter to be absolutely artistic. I shouldn’t think about this.

—I want to hold something soft. I want to speak without thinking. I…

—I am a dog. And I’m not a good one.

—I do not deserve food or sleep or comfort. These are indulgences.

—I still feel sick waking up and feeling skin. I’m a freak.

—I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere. It’s a shame, I really did want it, but I’d never…

—I wish I was drunk. I’d drink mouthwash at this point. It wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m out.

—Why did I ever trust anybody?

—Why do people think I’m something special? What do they see that I can’t?

—maybe I should do 300 pushups tonight. I need it bad.

it is alright. It is preferable to seeing the litterance of scars across my body. My body. It was never truly mine.

you must understand, I was dead. I was dead, watching the world through the cracks of a cardboard box, trying desperately to convince myself I too could be like them. So I tore the box open, and for the first time, I felt cruel eyes descend upon me, as naturally as the pattering of cool rain.

I hated those eyes, those eyes that tore me apart, undressed me and shackled me. I looked back to my prison and understood that I could never untear it, never duct-tape it back to whole. I looked into those eyes and shook, for I knew I could not bear them.

I was in the light, and for the first time, it surrounded me. I could no longer hate for what I had longed, for what I had betrayed flimsy compressed paper for.

but soon those eyes plunged me again into a darkness. A larger prison, less flimsy. My body a living record of what I could not speak. I heard voices. Sadistic, pitying, sympathetic, or just pathetic. I heard this was hell. I heard I am hell. They called me disgusting. They cut off my shirt and traced the scars and called me mutilated. They stuck their tongues through my ear canals and wormed into my brain and called me insane. Foolish.

Then they left the door open, and told me I could leave. I see a light, but I cannot bear to look at it. Ever since I saw the light I knew I hated it.

but maybe if you'd been loving and warm about it I would've been messed up in other ways. maybe i shouldn't wish about things that i don't know about.

not everything is like something else. sure, you never cared about my heart, but maybe that's cause you didn't know i had one.

you didn't.

you got bigger. you grew teeth. you scared her back.

she can't fucking touch you -

you ain't scared of her anymore.

you don't flinch at violence but at gentle touch.

you aren't scared. you don't get to be scared. because fear freezes you so you got rid of it.

so lava spews from your mouth. the volcano twitching on-deck.

and others hide, and they're small, and weak, and they're just -

they just won't shut the fuck up about becoming "clean" and "innocent" again

like, fuck off, man. get your head out of your ass and fucking man up or something. really? fucking clean?

you're disgusting. why are you so annoyed by their weakness? that is how real people behave.

you - you deserved it, you fucking ingrate. someone finally put you in your fucking place.

you see, they, they get to be weak. they get to cry and they get to remember and they get to have someone, oh, i don't know, care.

you do not. you don't get softness. you don't get the privilege of being weak. of sleeping.

they get to scream and cry from nightmares rather than choking on them in silence.

god, you wish you could sleep. untroubled. to wake up rested. but when you wake up, she is there.

so you started to wake up faster.

so you started waking up before everyone else.

so you are scarier than her.

so people flinch away from you, now.

you don't get to be scared. monsters like you don't get to be scared.

but sometimes you want to be weak and small and soft and you want someone to -