meloncollie

she decides to take control. but control doesn't take to her. she thought it would be better if she were better. i can't take over her right now; she's just empty, something of an apathetic hopelessness. but she doesn't give up for some reason. she keeps telling me she can't go on that way and something has to change. she will just keep trying until it happens. but day after day it is the same. how long?

circus

heeheeheehaha... i couldn't have fucked up her mind better if i'd planned it. she is running in circles in her head. or spirals... never ending up in the same place twice, but never proceeding in any direction. she wants it all and can't give up any of it. its only a decision. the worst torture in the world to a mind such as hers. the world keeps dangling a carrot in front of her face, only to snatch it away as she almost has it. tempting lights, as stars, in front of her eyes, being snuffed out as she reaches. it is enough to make her mind numb with the frustration and giddy with the irony. and i sit idly by and grin a delicious smirk as i watch some of the best entertainment i've yet encountered. and even i don't have a clue what will happen next in this circus called her life.

angry

ha! now she is mad. it is usually i who am allowed to be angry, but not today. i think my lack of recent writings has encouraged her to think more of herself. she seems to want to take over sometimes. i can't let her do that. if she loses me, she won't know how to deal with life. i may be her greatest adversary, but i am also the most loyal. i can't fade. for me to fade would bring disaster. if life were to become too easy, she would surely destroy herself in confusion. so today, i will speak for her. she is hurt. the anger of those who are nominally truest is something she must live with again. and even if the anger fades, there is a small scar from the hurt she had. when much is expected, she always tries to accomodate. but bitter and sarcastic remarks cause her to coil up, resist accomodation. when everyone wants something, and what she wants is drowned in attacks, she will begin to disappear. draw into herself. stay in bed. the world is a vampire, sucking her life and she will not fight back for she doesn't see any weapons.

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.