I told you. I begged.
I got on my knees, wounded and scared, only to have you simply brush me off.
I borderline screamed at you for help.
Only for you to continue to stare at me as if I was nothing but the friend you've always had, always known.
Perhaps you weren't listening when I spoke?
I however, was listening to you.
Maybe you're not the same friend I've always had, always known.
You didn't beg, or scream.
You cried and labeled yourself fine.
You laughed and gloated about how your demons looked better than mine- As if this was some beauty pageant designed to flaunt our nightmares and horrors, the grand prize being the title of "sickest".
You walked as a demon, proud and needy.
You spoke as a nightmare, horrid and cruel.
I never spoke of my demons again. I carefully hid them from you, from everyone.
The conclusion was that my evil should not be allowed to mix with yours. Both dark and unforgiving, you must never forget the intensity of one, let alone two allowed to mingle.
You had convinced me your demons were more beautiful. That they were stronger and well loved.
I began to wonder who you were because every time I looked at you all I saw was the same girl from years ago. One that now makes my demons surge.
As usual, you were oblivious to my pain, only concerned with making a name for what dwelled inside of you.
Your thoughts drove searing daggers through my chest and left permanent hauntings inside the hallow caverns within my mind. Always there to remind me my demons can not compete with yours.
The things inside you were bred, treated like gold.
You stare mockingly at me, silently telling me I deserved this. That this was all my fault. That my pain would never be enough to acknowledge or compete.
This should hurt more than anything. Staring to the face of a friend, and seeing only blinding rage mixed with resentment and bitterness because... I believe your demons are worse than mine.
Mine are trying to kill me.
Yours are killing me.
You're not the only person to agree with my demons. To coat my sweet daydreams with massacred versions of myself, every word leaving your lips another victim for the decaying mass of where I used to lie.
