A Little Thing Called Death

don't ask. i don't know.

you didn't have to leave me here
caught in a veil of spider's webs
wrapped in the terrors my mind has created.
if all you ever wanted was to murder me,
why didn't you just shoot me?
stab me?
throw me from a cliff?
because all i ever wanted was for the fear
to fucking disappear.
all you taught me was that i'm not important,
and all i'll ever know is sadness.
because of you.
and your fucking attitude
that i can't express myself
because you have impaired my ability to think and feel,
and although you may convince me that i'm fine,
when you go i'm just an empty shell
constantly being pulled back into the darkness,
forever lost in my own tears
and pain
and it will never fucking stop
because you won't let it.
you're intent on screwing me over
and while i'm here, being screwed,
you're standing back, watching,
cruelly laughing at my anguish.

A/N: i didn't write this about anybody who will ever read this, i promise. i just had a bad day a couple months ago and wrote this up, and i decided to post it now. I don't know what most of it means, so if anybody can tell me, feel free :)
~blink-184~