Dear little human I'm attached to....
I bet that you think I'm the bad guy.
That if it weren't for me, you'd be happy and free, laughing and loving. That you'd be able to escape your closed doors and tight walls. That suddenly, all the tears and blood and anger in your life will just disappear. That you won't have to face heartbreak and rejection, and all will be well. Happily ever after for you, right?
I bet you think that the road would be smooth and clear from now on if I should die. If you could just pick up that gun and shoot me. If only my cold body would fall to the floor, blood spilling, and you standing above me triumphantly. That you'd be a hero, and the townsfolk would cheer, and the world will cheer, and a lover would come up for a kiss and to sweep you away.
Too bad for you, I don't work like that.
If I were gone, you'd be no more happier than you are now. You wouldn't know sadness, you wouldn't know pain, so how would you know anything besides it? You'd spend your days by the window, counting the raindrops, or watching grass grow. Your life would waste away if I was not the pain in your side to keep you alive, to keep you growing.
I'm not doing this for you. Hell, I couldn't care less about you. You can jump off a building, cut yourself, hang yourself, whatever. You may say that death says, "You're fired," but suicide says, "I quit". Suicide is not quitting. Suicide is losing the game. My game. How dare you try to "quit"? What if I had planned this all along? To break you down until you "quit"? What do you think of that, you worthless s**t?
Yes, I know that by now you hate me. I'm a b***h, I'm a major pain in your side, and you'd just love to face me hand-in-hand. Too bad for you, I'm protected by the boundaries of flesh. Your flesh, in fact. So I get to sit here, in the back of your head, telling you the wrong facts. I get to nudge you in the wrong directions, to fall in love and to feel flashes of anger and sadness. I get to tell you to hate me. You have no power. You are my slave, you insignificant speck of life. So go back to your so-called "Emo Corner," cut and cry and b***h and moan about whatever life have thrown at you now. Go back and fall in love with that random skank at the mall. Live your stinkin' life, just be sure you continue to wear me on your sleeves and flash my manipulation over you. Tell your friends, too.
Just be sure that you remember, I cause you to smile, too. So don't forget it, you fool.
- Title: Porter vos émotions sur votre
- Artist: apricot turtle
- Description: The title means "To wear your emotions on your sleeve." I wrote this because I was annoyed with my friends always having anger flashes and "emotional breakdowns," then taking them out on me. They say that their emotions are their strength and their only friend. Too bad, I'm pretty sure emotions don't care. So have fun with that "friendship," I suppose.
- Date: 03/21/2009
- Tags: emotions
No comments available ...