Blind

How can you be so fucking blind to how much I need you. How can you not see the pain behind my eyes, as I watch that little picture pop up, meaning you have seen my story. Yet you don't reply.

I'm angry and hurt and feel like shit, not only because there's too much work to do. It's a part of it, a substencial one, but you ignorong me... god, that sucks so much more.

I want to not care, but I can't let go. I want to forget, but I don't allow myself to do that. I wallow in the pain to have something. Even if it's bad. I hate that the days are getting shorter and there's more darkness that comes my way. The real and the metaphorical as well.

Yesterday, I cut myself to see how it feels. After several months, it's just more of the same nothingness. I think my tools are too dull. I want to go deeper, with the cuts and with my emotions, too. But there's recklessness to be experienced and that could end badly. Maybe I'll try, though. Another little tragedy in someone's little world. And no one left to care.

Endure what you can, while you're still here. More or less patiently waiting for the thing that will probably never happen. At least not in the way you'd want it to.

Nea