It seems that I always feel the most during the night.
"Lonely little girl..." She liked to taunt me. I glared,
"If you don't shut your damn mouth, I'll..."
She smirked, "You'll what?"
'Kill you. I'll fucking kill you, you goddamned brat.'
I couldn't say it. I sighed and turned away. It would've been an empty threat.
She giggled, "You'd never be able to do anything to me,"
I felt the cold blade of her favourite knife lightly run down my spine.
"Not even if I was trying to kill you."
I couldn't reply, I didn't know what to say anyway. But it still irritated me because I knew what she said was true, all she ever speaks is the truth anyway. My truths.
"Lonely little soul,
let me see you cry.
I'll make you feel whole,
so I can tear you out,
watch you die."
I felt the hot tears welling up. My blood was boiling but my hands were cold. I felt her sharp nails in my scalp and I knew, in a way, it was supposed to be comforting.
I was too tired to push her away so I burrowed deeper into my bloodstained blankets and let her tear my skin in her sick concept of comfort.
YOU ARE READING
Fancy Words
Poesia» I try to be friends with both my A N G E L S and M O N S T E R S « Oh, all these words swimming in my head. *Previously titled "The Poems In My Head".
