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I cannot help but think the irrefutable truth that this life sucks. We spend our whole lives trying to make something of ourselves regardless of the unintended outcome.
We focus too hard on ourselves that, by the end, that's all that'll be left; a reflection of I, with a confused scowl and eyes with greed escaping them a little too late.
The most amusing part is, even if we cared for one another like we should, the relationship balance will never fail to teeter to one side more than the other. The constant nagging feeling that tugs at the hem of my heart reminds me, no one will care as much as I do. So why even care?
We stand still, wasted breaths escaping; words left undigested. We might as well send the exerted breaths to the mind. Our brains lack the oxygen.
I feel throughout the years, my heart hardening to concrete. Sometimes I wonder why I am so cold but now I know I am as cold as the ground I've spent most of my life on so far, begging, and praying for a new name, a new life. But I guess us homeless folk inhabit the earth as scum, and don't deserve a re-do right?
Maybe I think too much; but thoughts and words are all I have at the moment.
My thoughts are interrupted by a loud screeching sound that felt like claws against my chalkboard skin.
"Noah, don't do that." I scolded my little brother while cringing internally. He took it upon himself to release his boredom but scratching a rusty pipe along the edge of the dumpster we usually hung out at.
"You didn't answer my question, Scar." "I wasn't listening." I answered him truthfully before I felt myself drifting back into thought.
Before I shut him out I thought I heard him whisper, "Exactly," under his breath. I shook off the voice in my head being my little eight year old brother and continued to my thoughts.
They call me Scar. Ive always thought it was because I never went away when I was wanted to. Noah believes its because I have the ability to make impressions on people, leaving a mark so you never forget me. I don't know; but I do know, it is short for Scarlett.
My name is Scarlett, like the color of the strained veins that are scattered like spider webs on my eyes. Like the blood my brother spews from his swollen lips. Like the reddish hint of the sun before the dark is casted over my eyes.
My name is sacrifice. My name is fear. It lives in my shadow and follows me at my heels, watching my every move. It is stained on my skin. Like a storybook, the ink on my pages will tell the tale better than anyone can. So I shall let it speak..
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Is anyone out there?
»b.r.l.«
