In the Shadow of Lights

wouldn't

I know I hurt him. I know I did. I always manage to mess up everything in my life huh? I manage to love it, cherish it, but then make it into a ball of black.

I am a shadow. A diety of darkness. Someone meant to corrupt anything that is pure.

But then... Theres him. The light. Pure white light. Something you can't see, but its always around you. Taking up your life, your eyes. But, its always so far away. You have to look so close to be able to see it...

He's the light. And I'm the shadow. Two completely different things, yet so close and perfect for each other.

Why do I continue to hurt him? Why must I ingore him for so long? But even so, its not me who goes chasing after him. Its him that comes after me. He really is a little idiot for coming to me. Its clear that he... L-Words me. Wouldn't I be a fool to not see it? Even a stranger could tell by that stutter, the flushed cheeks, flustered when I say a simple word. He thinks he hides it so well... What a damn fool. He just had to fall for a broken man such as myself huh?

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"No. Can't you see? No matter what you do, you can't help me."

The look in his eyes was enough to make me want to take my words back. Want is the key word here. In my anger induced rage, all I saw was red. All of this was for what? Just him asking a simple question? Did I always have to get mad?

"GET THE FUCK OUT ALREADY. YOU HAVE NO USE HERE SO GET OUT!" I yelled out at him. He looked so scared.. Frightened. And I was the one who caused this... Fuck.

Not waiting for his response, I went to room and tried to calm my self induced anger. I did everything. From punching the walls... To the bed... Even pinching and hitting myself. If I always hurt precious people, the only way is to hurt myself right?

It was satisfying to see the bruises and cuts that would appear in my skin. It reminded me of artwork. A pale empty canvas. Then suddenly its brought to life once you bring the paintbrush and you start. You start at one point, then pretty soon the paint is all over and its completed.

My 'dates' always wondered where the bruises came from. Where the deep purples and sickengly yellow magically appeared. Of course, I couldn't tell anybody my own hands that gave them pleasure, created the beautiful but painful mess.

I certainly couldn't tell my 'friend'.

I think of myself as an emotional hoarder. I, bottle everything up, and when something sets me off, I go 'missing.' Missing from the outside world, gone from everything. This takes up to about Three weeks before I just go out and pretend everything is fine. Pretend everything is ok, and things aren't going to hell. But life has been shit anyways.

When was the last time I smiled? Hmm... The thought of a smile is foreign to me. Its a ghost from the past that might not ever come again. It'll be fine though... Right? There is nothing left to smile for.

So it'll be better to forget it all.

To Be Continued...