Whispers & Cry

Going through phases of life, you lapse in and out of awareness of things.

And then, it hits you.

Like a jolt that wrenches your gut.

Abrupt. It swells, like a wound.

And you feel the tears collecting and your pride that you desperately grasp onto.

You feel it slipping, your manic hold on it, forcefully, loosened.

The voice within screams what you've already suspected. Expected.

You cannot be loved.

Loved, appreciated, no one has ever or is going to look at you with such a display of emotions.

Except for him, only him.

Dignified, profound, unconditional affection; simply because you were not meant to be.

They always want something, there is a catch.

Always, always something that you have to give back.

Maybe, your soul. A life for a life they say.

You tire, your core is weakened by the pang of this revelation.

It burns, like alcohol spilled over a fresh cut.

Wronged. Again. And again. Again shouldn't even be a description that compliments your mistakes.

But we all say it without thought.

I don't believe in genuine individuality, there is no such thing.

Inside, we are all the same, through and through, doesn't matter.

Why is it so hard for someone, just anyone, to love you?

For you, for all your faults, for all the ugly things you represent.

You wince at how pathetic you sound.

Self-loathe is not something that you can afford anymore. Imagine that.

Embracing yourself, only because you have no other choice.

Because only you have the capacity for it.

Unmoving, you remain too absorbed to notice the gradual but definite fade of the sounds from the world outside.

As your frantic mind reels in, it showcases its mental pursuit of some carthartic escape.

Well, maybe not you. Maybe it's just me.

My flaws, they excite you.

Because you want to feel redeemed like you're better.

Well you are, you are fucking better than me.

But in essence, me and you, are not all that different.