self

i should not be confused. only she has feelings. i have intentions, desires-these are not only for those with souls. but i know her feelings. and she knows my thoughts. she knows that i am not real. but she is addicted to me, for i will say what she cannot, what she must not. she is good, alive; she cannot say these dead things. but i can. so i speak for her.
but now i am unsure whether i feel her confusion, or she feels mine. how can i feel if i am not real? i must not become real. to become real would lead her to insanity. is that not what i want? is that her talking now, or me? she created me, gave me this voice, but that is all. only a voice. she drew this line so that i would be only the evil, only her voice that desired self destruction. because she could not fight against herself if she could not determine which part was enemy and which was self. i was clearly defined, but now...the lines are fading and they say she is "creepy." because of me. i know she doesn't want this. and though i fight her, i respect her. we respect each other. and there are some things we do not do. we do not let our battle bleed into the real world. the real world is her territory, not mine. and i must respect that. these are the rules we have not spoken. and she claims she will destroy me if i cross them.

breathe

i told her secret. and she felt better. she felt understood. and loved. and yesterday, as she was walking home at dusk, she could smell the honeysuckle and the air and see the blinking fairy lights. and last night, she felt the embrace of a friend. breathing, for a few hours, was not pain. living, in those moments, ceased to be a chore. back to reality, now, she still has a piece of that bliss in her soul. it may fade, but for now, it is a soothing salve to her wounds.

pieces

she looks in the mirror they say is perfect. but the image is shattered. the person looking back at her is all in pieces. is this the way she really looks? it is so hard to match the shards the way they go, to imagine what the image is supposed to look like without the edges. what she is supposed to look like. she doesn't look like she's supposed to. but they say there's nothing wrong with the mirror.

trust

she is crying desperately for help.
but the only ones who care are the ones who make it worse.
i am the only one who completely understands her. we understand each other. she trusts me completely, not because i have said that i won't hurt her, but because i am the only one who will tell her that i intend to hurt her. the rest do it secretly, or accidentally. they say they will never let her down and she knows that is a lie. i tell her every day how i wish to torment her, to love her with my mocking and my knives. this is the only truth she has been told, so she knows i won't let her down. i will always be here. pleasure and happiness are fleeting, and they can be held on to like smoke. the hurt is as real and strong as the blade. she can trust the pain.

pretend

she's ignoring me again.
having fun, pretending the pain isn't there. she can cope this way. she can live without the desperate needs that sometimes overwhelm her. and its okay for now. i won't take this from her. someday she may have to face this and conquer it. conquer me. maybe. unless i win. or this battle continues forever, leaning some days in my favor, some in hers. for now, its hers, but decietfully so. she's hiding from me, but not beating me. i am still strong here, behind the scenes, waiting for her to lose that strength. it stands on a perilous edge.

cut

she threatened to find a physical blade to end the unrelenting wound. frantic searching for an alternative; dig a nail from the fading wood and focus on its jagged point, the pain against her arm. that's how she makes me go away; focus on the pain, the creeping red line. the only time the world disappears.
she isn't always so miserable; sometimes smiling at the irony of the sorrow that's drowning her and the beauty that's breaking her heart, knowing that she cannot tell a soul of the desperate need to destroy beauty and to change everything smooth to painful frayed and ragged, make beautiful shreds of the skin imprisoning her.

note:

THE WORLD DOESN'T FUCKING CARE!

creeping

she is slipping again.
she didn't realize it for a long time, but she can see it now.
i am slipping, sneaking, creeping in.
first, silently stalking
but now she knows i am here
and she doesn't resist.
why would she?
she has no weapons against me
no reason to defy me.
nothing.
except that fear.
it tastes like blood.
this will never end for her.
if i win, there will be nothing left.
if she wins, she will be drowned in the shallowness of her soul.
she's happy just to have the upper hand.
but now, she sits in apathy,
dying in this tiny place.
she could do anything she wanted
but she is too paralyzed by this fear.
by these options.
she doesn't know how
to narrow down infinity.