trigger points.

I want to be pretty; perfect (PROSE)

I keep thinking. Thinking too much. Sun in my window, tears on my cheeks. Who could have hurt me today? Who stole me away. And I hear that familiar song purr "when the world ends, collect your things you're coming with me". And the world ends, in the space of 3 by 4, sunshine and tears.

Stop my dedication to this agony. Stop my wounds from closing over, they just open up again. Cutting over and over, cutting over things not healed. They will never heal. They will never stop hurting. The world will never stop, just for me. My room stops moving and the sun stays still and my tears don't leave me and I'm stuck here. Wrapped in helpless, wrapped in lonely.

These stupid boys and their stupid toys, their toys are hearts, they play them for fools. I keep mine locked up, wound up and ready to fall again. I want to be perfect, I want to be pretty, I want to be loved. Really loved. I'm sick of lusting, sick of people not caring. Sick of being used, of being everything but there is always someone better. Someone more than I can ever hope to be.

Don't say things when you know you don't mean it. Don't try to fake it, I know you haven't seen it. You haven't seen me until I cry in your arms, gripped by anguish. You don't really know me til we've stayed up all night talking about everything and nothing. You won't see me as beautiful til you know how ugly I can be on the inside. And you could never love me til you know this hate that breathes in me.

I just want to be perfect for you. I just want to mean something more than someone to fill the void. Someone to defer your broken heart, keep you warm at night because in the end you couldn't give a damn. I need to be, more than this, to be ready for you. Where are you? Find me, let me find you. I'm sick of being lonely.