I can't help it, or maybe I could have,
but the time to help 'it' has past.
What is this 'it' though?
I refuse to label it with that Taboo word,
and I refuse to utter in my mind,
let the word escape my mouth
in a soft sigh.
Everyday you invade me,
you barge into my life,
brought into my life by my own reminiscing.
I wonder about you constantly,
against my own will.
You are in the back of my consciousness,
on the tettering brink of being dragged
out into my reality.
We're oceans apart, you and I.
My mind is rational, but my heart will not listen.
Why do you do this to me?
You bring me joys in that 2 days out of 7,
only to crush it like a unwanted flower
on the night of the last.
You keep a tight control of the playing board,
the master of this little game of ours.
You let me dance upon it, enjoying
my silly antics.
You say I amuse you, making me feel
like a toy.
You say that you only talk to me,
because I am simular to a past
that you can never return to
but still cherish.
I hate how my only value is not of myself,
but of another, my being only just a mirror
to reflect this other.
I know this, but I don't mind.
I will accept anything you are willing to give.
I know this is a weak feature of myself,
and I hate it.
I hate how you can make me into something
that I can't be in my waking life.
You make me feel the child,
able to be silly and carefree.
Gone is the mature young woman,
who needs to fret about herself and others.
Gone is the responsible sensible me,
whom others see as a mother hen.
Instead, you give me that sense of feeling,
that I don't have to be depended on,
looked up for and needed.
You make me feel like I can rely on you,
depend on you.
You make me feel such the child,
that I hate it.
Still, through my repulsion of myself,
I still come to you.
I can never stay mad at you,
for giving you the silent treatment hurts myself,
it doesn't affect you.
You could care less if I spoke to you
during that 2 out of 7.
At least, thats what I think.
You make me feel like I am no one,
holding far away in a cold apathetic
indifferent manner.
Then you make me feel welcomed,
letting me be by your immediate self.
You say things that make me feel close,
that maybe I am close to you.
Later on though,
you sternly say that I am nothing to you.
I hate this and I hate you.
I try to hate you,
but I can't.
I try to desperately grasp onto what I have,
what little you give me,
and then selfishly crave for more.
I hate how I make you regret,
those little things you give to me.
I hate how this one time
I make you worry about me.
I'll be fine, honest.
I'll teach myself to honestly hate you,
from the bottom of my heart
so that you don't have this burden of me.
Everything will be fine again,
once I kill this heart of mine.
So until then, please
just let me selfishly cling onto this thing
that I have worked so hard for.
Until I can live my life in this
desolation
in which I can go a whole week
where thoughts of you never invade my thoughts
for a single day.
Until that day comes when you are just
another empty and blank face beyond this wall
let me be,
that selfish little child,
a moment more.
View User's Journal
Sora's Journal
The Online Diary of an Eccentric young and dark artist with her occasional outbursts of joy over the trivial matters of her pitiful daily life..
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