Just a cough. Maybe a sniffle. Maybe a sigh?

The Plague

Like the plague, my sadness grew ever so with the intrusion of another in my life. The woman whom infested me with many blighted fleas and slept under the same roof as me like a stowaway rat. The one I couldn't seem to place in a trap and decapitate and managed to get my fingers snagged instead of her disgusting blood smeared nose. I wanted to grab her by the ears. Maybe pinch them not too rough. I will save that for her hair. I wished to grab her by the tail and lop it off with a dull scissors she once used to cut off my once beautiful hair. The hair that screamed like departed snakes from upon Medusa's crown. I wanted to skin her with a potato peeler and discard of the rotting and maggot filled flesh. I wanted to slit her throat only just a bit for her to get one last scream out only to choke on her own blood.

But I awake here. In my spot. Hands around my own throat. The hands that always seem to be missing skin around the fingers and hanging nails. The hands that often had a wound of some kind. I didn't want these hands. I didn't want these damn hands. The hands my mother despised for not being feminine, the hands I despise for not being dainty like the women on the movies. But these hands take hold of me in vengeance.

As I pick at their wounds and cause new ones only to pick pick pick again, my friends are off with each other, ignoring me. I voice my saddened state only to be brushed off. Nothing more and nothing less. I want to fit in with others, but am just a pawn in the game, just a tad bit lighter and darker than the rest. Thrown away soon after like a mistaken lost game piece.  This piece has scars, like others. This piece does not flaunt them, like others. I do not wear my scars as a peacock in fucking heat. I do the deed only to hide myself in shame and fear of who or what I have become. 

No one reads this. No one cares for this. I'm the overweight person to the back with shit hair, shit face and shit tastes in anything. Anime weeb, German freak, gender dysphorian twink... We all have the problems of a child, some more than others. Some suffer the same names and labels as I, but they decide to piss themselves and await for mommy to change them. I yank down my own diapers when no one is looking. Never needed her anyway. The life I live has no time for drama. My friends must come first. Only them. Only them. I do not remember who I am. I did once. Now I worry about whom my friends are. Whom I'm with and who I can rest my head in their lap and allow myself to drift off to slumber without the fear of having my throat slit open and my tears rush down my cheeks as they stuff their hand deep into my body to yank out the heart. The heart that beat so long ago.