Nothing compares to this feeling. I hate myself. My soul is being ripped into pieces, and it's my fault. My fucking fault. I keep trying to tell myself that I did the right thing...perhaps I did...but right now I just want to torture myself. I feel as if my heart has been ripped out of my body, leaving a gaping whole, never to be filled. My tear-streaked face will never meet daylight. All anyone else will see is happiness, because in order to protect what I love, I must act as of it were never there. I must act as if I never cared. My being is merely the facade in which I hold up...my spirit is what feels every invisible blow. It's bruised...battered...and I think soon dead. But my facade will never show my true thoughts. No...because my curse is simple. I will always love what I can't have...so in order to protect what I love...I must hide my spirit. What better way to hide it than death?
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The Feelings Which Flow Through Me
RandomThe feelings that I have felt, the feelings which I buried have come bursting forth. Breaking to the surface. This is for me. This is my quick release valve.
