JUST A DOLL, ISN'T SHE?

complexities of a dollface

Nothing makes us more vulnerable than loneliness, except greed. -Thomas Harris

Pain is beauty and beauty is pain and I don't think I remember a time when one did not follow the other, the ouroboros. A hungry snake, all consuming and all stupid.  A mother passing on all the diseases of the mind and a hardened heart to a girl who believed in more. More love, more life. More then having a sad story to tell and a cycle to follow. Something new could exist.

The cut, the words that made the cuts sting and bleed is a endless abyss that I've drowned in too many times to remember. I open the door every damn time to it. It became more animalistic, the way it tore into everything I could have been. I was supposed to be safe, untouched. I let myself decay inside thinking the hollowness would bore anyone from coming near. I was dead wrong.

A still calm lights the air, its uncomfortable and unfamiliar. One of the good days I guess. I sit down in the same chair and stare out the same window with empty eyes. I wonder if I'll always feel like this. All wound tight and bittered.

There used to be days I was a child, few and then the ones in which I wasn't, mostly. Put her in her grave early,  that little girl, that swam with the snakes. The mother danced and drank away the night every night. The little girl stayed quiet, grew tall, talked a big talk yet grew small inside. She is resting now with her toys and dreams. Waiting. Is it worth it to wake up? To dance again? My feet have blisters and the music isn't right. The birds chirp too pitched and short, no real song but a warning.

I look at my nails. I should paint them before I bite them.

You're still nothing to no one, they yell, just always the wrong girl at the wrong time with the wrong face and the wrong words. Isn't it just a shame to be so shameful, they whisper. Fucking insufferable aren't I?

The pictures glisten and gleem, oh what a sheen, to be such a sight to be seen.

If only I could've been, they look at me with looks mean. Yeah throw me up on the cross, I know its in your nature, you need a nemesis.

Age might weight down my skin but my spirt is still soaring even after my will is rotted away, why put her to bed in the bitterness she grew from when I can just walk out the front door? So I did. I closed it behind me. I walked into the warmth of the sun, the dirt on my bare feet.

Call me a coward but atleast I can smile again.

The butterflies die in the sigh of you giving up. Take the hurricane in your chest and let it out, cig lit and burning up your pain in the dark instead of everyones face, face yourself as you truly are. Live for the dead or you'll be it, dragging a life of could have been's behind you.