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Waiting for Death at the Door
She killed herself asking, "Is this what the end looks like? Sleeping and dreaming, your heart dissipates; losing your breath and consciousness again, watching people cry, pacing the room."
"Can't think of what to do, wishing you knew, drowned and dreamt this moment, been planning since October, hidden pleasure, hidden satisfaction; this I so overdue, I can't deal with them not wanting me, existed, hidden away in isolation, numbness being swept beneath to bury yourself in emptiness as you throw your emotions in the trash, being me is what started everything, pulled you left and right, told you that you're the center of your problems. Am I at fault for everything in life I bear the responsibility of others?"
"Within the confines of my mind, I slowly go insane, not letting people see how badly I'm sick, I am losing all control over myself, people look and watch, thinking you're ok, seeing through you because you have nothing to offer them just to hang you dry when you're not needed; thinking everything you touch is either broken or damaged, preaching beware."
"Of her touch and when they need something from you, they get frustrated and mad, they can't get anything out of you, it's like nobody even cares to think about you consider you, it feels like you're just an object to them something to use and throw away; as they go about their lives leaving you all alone, it must feel like you don't matter to them at all. It's as if you're a means to an end for them, it's as if they don't view you as a person at all."
"I try so hard to make them care about me but they never do feels like all of my efforts are wasted, seeking attention as a form of comfort like telling myself, they will care eventually; as it can be less lonely after all, no one cares for you; haven’t shown proof of care so it’s hard to believe them, so you eventually stop caring about yourself like what's the point in doing that, sabotaging everything good that happens to you because you don't have enough good in you to deserve it; you draw a blank when it comes to thinking about yourself, all you can think is about is all the negativity thing they view you as.
it's as If you're numb to your self-image, your identity,
Feelings of hopelessness that nothing will ever change,
Stuck in the same place, forever being hurt again and again,
As you exhaust all of your resources, what else do you have to live for?
Other than being attacked for simply being yourself.
Fearing your life as they weaponize you, scanning to find knives hidden behind their concealed form, inviting you in a friendly gesture,
All the while planning to eradicate you, are they truly genuinely trying to be friendly? Or are they using it as a disguise to hurt you on the inside, letting your guard down, pulling your emotions left and right? Anger, happiness, sadness, confusion, it's like I'm in a maze with no exit, trying to find my way out. I should have killed them instead of waiting for death at the door, it was a calculated move on my part. I'm sick and tired of the anticipation, waiting for them to slice me into thin pieces of paper, is it my fault for socializing? Wanting to be with people, wanting to be loved? Why am I subjected to so much anguish? The sharp image of a knife ingrained in my mind, Ingrid within recalls memories, unchecked like they will find me, pretending like no effect is displayed, "Why me?" is what I whisper subconsciously, "Oh, I know why, it's me! They were going to kill me, so I murdered them before they had the chance.
I weep as I hold the knife, my hands tightened as I try to block out the agony as it consumes me. The anger turns into madness, mixed with my insanity, and as I say goodbye to my innocence, I realize they were right, everything good must come to an end but I was never good, so I should leave them, I didn't want blood on my hands, that would make things oh so real... cutting myself to punish myself for being me, causing lacerations on multiple parts of my body, as they ask, "is she already dead?", "When will she die?" The days had already passed and so had my life, I no longer wished to live, so I slowly closed my eyes, as I took my last breath, my hands slowly dropping to the sides of my body, every fiber of being stopped moving, no longer in motion, as I realize I'm no longer alive.
© muniraalik
"Can't think of what to do, wishing you knew, drowned and dreamt this moment, been planning since October, hidden pleasure, hidden satisfaction; this I so overdue, I can't deal with them not wanting me, existed, hidden away in isolation, numbness being swept beneath to bury yourself in emptiness as you throw your emotions in the trash, being me is what started everything, pulled you left and right, told you that you're the center of your problems. Am I at fault for everything in life I bear the responsibility of others?"
"Within the confines of my mind, I slowly go insane, not letting people see how badly I'm sick, I am losing all control over myself, people look and watch, thinking you're ok, seeing through you because you have nothing to offer them just to hang you dry when you're not needed; thinking everything you touch is either broken or damaged, preaching beware."
"Of her touch and when they need something from you, they get frustrated and mad, they can't get anything out of you, it's like nobody even cares to think about you consider you, it feels like you're just an object to them something to use and throw away; as they go about their lives leaving you all alone, it must feel like you don't matter to them at all. It's as if you're a means to an end for them, it's as if they don't view you as a person at all."
"I try so hard to make them care about me but they never do feels like all of my efforts are wasted, seeking attention as a form of comfort like telling myself, they will care eventually; as it can be less lonely after all, no one cares for you; haven’t shown proof of care so it’s hard to believe them, so you eventually stop caring about yourself like what's the point in doing that, sabotaging everything good that happens to you because you don't have enough good in you to deserve it; you draw a blank when it comes to thinking about yourself, all you can think is about is all the negativity thing they view you as.
it's as If you're numb to your self-image, your identity,
Feelings of hopelessness that nothing will ever change,
Stuck in the same place, forever being hurt again and again,
As you exhaust all of your resources, what else do you have to live for?
Other than being attacked for simply being yourself.
Fearing your life as they weaponize you, scanning to find knives hidden behind their concealed form, inviting you in a friendly gesture,
All the while planning to eradicate you, are they truly genuinely trying to be friendly? Or are they using it as a disguise to hurt you on the inside, letting your guard down, pulling your emotions left and right? Anger, happiness, sadness, confusion, it's like I'm in a maze with no exit, trying to find my way out. I should have killed them instead of waiting for death at the door, it was a calculated move on my part. I'm sick and tired of the anticipation, waiting for them to slice me into thin pieces of paper, is it my fault for socializing? Wanting to be with people, wanting to be loved? Why am I subjected to so much anguish? The sharp image of a knife ingrained in my mind, Ingrid within recalls memories, unchecked like they will find me, pretending like no effect is displayed, "Why me?" is what I whisper subconsciously, "Oh, I know why, it's me! They were going to kill me, so I murdered them before they had the chance.
I weep as I hold the knife, my hands tightened as I try to block out the agony as it consumes me. The anger turns into madness, mixed with my insanity, and as I say goodbye to my innocence, I realize they were right, everything good must come to an end but I was never good, so I should leave them, I didn't want blood on my hands, that would make things oh so real... cutting myself to punish myself for being me, causing lacerations on multiple parts of my body, as they ask, "is she already dead?", "When will she die?" The days had already passed and so had my life, I no longer wished to live, so I slowly closed my eyes, as I took my last breath, my hands slowly dropping to the sides of my body, every fiber of being stopped moving, no longer in motion, as I realize I'm no longer alive.
© muniraalik
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