vanneom

It's hardly a coincidence that I wake up with my cup half full every day.

I fill it to the brim on purpose and wait for it to overflow before adding more and more until there is nothing left.

And then I erupt.

You see, the only thing I'm filling this cup with is my own blood. It is my filth, my perversion. I sulk in it.

Worst of all, I enjoy it.

I adore being sick; I fall into this mud that I call home of my own volition.

I wait for the cup to overflow because that is when I feel the most like myself. When I'm at my worst, that's when I'm the most alive.

When I feel most at: Home

Still I try to define Emotions that are multiple Emotions, that are vast And endless, that expand And shrink, and exist In a world outside myself.

Being a disappointment for some reason, is one of the things you expect from me. But so is having straight A's, being a perfect athlete, a compassionate girl who can efficiently do her feminine duties. All of these things lumped on top of me, like a stone with various labels that shouldn’t be there in the first place, and even more with your threatening words of my complete failure. What do you think I’m supposed to do? All these words, you think they’re empty, when in the reality you just can’t seem to face, they’re filled with malice, evil. You don’t know what it’s like, seeking validation every waking second. Is it so hard for you to give me something like that? It’s really not, but you won’t let me win. You won’t let me breathe. Your arms constrict me from the lives I see around me. What’s the problem of letting me blend into the crowd? My uniqueness - abnormality you say, if you want it gone so bad, let me then. You contradict your words each passing day, like I’m supposed to unravel and know the intent you’re trying to force me to follow.

But I was little too.

"One day, I will find someone who will tear me apart."

I will find someone / who will open me at my seams /dig their fingers into my open wounds / open them endlessly / absolutely destroy me / I want to feel the sweet intimacy / of warm hands against my own / of the digging of blunt nails into the now intervening crevices of my hands // I want to be torn apart excruciatingly / I want to be sliced from chest to my stomach / the claret body fluid gushing out of me, hollow me out completely / MAKE ME EMPTY; INTO NOTHINGNESS