The sadist of my mind has been replaced by your voice. Soft, furtive lashings of the tongue and contemptuous glances have crept insidiously into my skin and paralyzed me in a turmoil I cannot escape. This affliction has left me tortured, for while my nature rebels against it, the shame that it brings leaves me spiritless in the prelude of what may be my awakening. I take defiant solace in the hope for music beneath the roar of insult, but the recognition of this hubris leads me further into shame. I have become so mired in the faults of my mind that I cannot enjoy its gifts.
Sadness creeps in at the end of each day and I’ve got nothing and no one to save me. Can’t even rely on the self-pity that comes with mourning your give-a-fucks for me because I’ve known for a while now that you’re all out. Or maybe you never had them to begin with. Is the chair that sits next to me too uncomfortable for you?
You’re tired and time will just make you more tired. You’re tired of me being sad, I know you won’t come around when I feel crazy. There’s no more room for me to be anything but a delight, a pleasure. There’s no room for my darkness, no room for me to mess up and no shoulder to cry on.
You listen but you keep me at arm’s distance. I don’t know how to inhabit this space. It makes me hate you and it makes me hate myself. But when I leave you accuse me of not caring. You can’t see that I’m just trying to live somewhere that doesn’t hurt so much.
I’m alone. But maybe that’s what I need after all this time.