Dancing4Reighn

There's a difference between types of pain and how you accumulate them. There's a difference in points of view, even within yourself. There's a difference in words and thoughts no matter how straight-forward something is put. Nothing is ever how it is, how it should be. Everything is fake. Sometimes it doesn't matter how much something is needed, how much it is wanted. Sometimes it doesn't matter how hard you try. It just is. Fake. Real. Indifferent. It's all a caucus race. Together. Love. Hate. Pain. Joy. What is together? What is anything if nothing can exist? I woke up one morning thinking I had this brilliant idea. I thought I figur

It's sad that almost 18 years have passed and none of you know me. The real me, the me that's so knotted up inside and lacerations cover my body. It's horrid that I can't speak the truth. To tell you that there are 80 people that I know, that you never will. That I'll see them every day and that I really care for them. I can't tell you how I get when I'm angry or scared. It's not what you expect, not what you want. I give you only that. Each misstep is like a needle point, jabbing at my ribs. I hate needles, you'll never understand that. Heroin comes out of them, they're bad. I don't like being around noise any more. It hurts me men

I'd place my heart on a silver platter if it meant I got to keep you. You the one I love, the one I hurt. You the precious being who undoubtedly loves me too. You whom, through it all, I've watched and cared for. I told myself no back then. No to having you, to loving you. And I saw petals falling still and began to love you more. So you care about your appearance, everyone does. So you tend to be obsessive, I think it's cute. There's no one else I'd rather be with. Yet I see this burnt orange coming at me. There's no where to run or hide, and why should I? I deserve it, whether you wish to think of it or not. That hate hits home