I was thinking about that stuff about the order your born in tying in with your personality. They say the middle child is ignored most of the time or feels they are. Well, I've seemed to prove that to be factual. You can say I'm imagining that I'm being isolated from everyone in my family and only talked to when something is wanted of me or to be put down but I'm not. I was hoping that it was all just in my head but it's not. It's all too real. I stand there in a room full of people crying a new Mississippi River but no one takes notice. They all pass by not one asking what's causing me so much distress. Not one wants to hear that being alive is what causes me so much pain because they don't care. Then one comes up to me. My breath catches in my throat thinking someone's finally taken notice that I'm not all there. But no she simply yells at me for not washing the dishes and doesn't let me explain it wasn't my turn. Tears have now turned acid from my anger but she doesn't see the blood left behind on my cheek. No one does as my words continue to come out betraying me even though they are drowned out by her screams. Was it not enough that she gave me this cursed existence? She thinks I should be grateful that she gave me life but I never asked for it. Life is full of pain so it makes me wonder what there was before this. Was there anything before this wretched thing I would falsely call precious? There is nothing precious about sitting with your knees to your chest trying to grasp something other than coldness. Trying to fish something out in the black hole known as your soul. But there is nothing there to bring comfort and there is no one around to provide it. Only the fantasies that flow there to remind you that you'll never have that. They are a temporary escape and give you high you'll never truly be able to keep a hold on. Sooner or later you'll have to fall off that magic carpet and land on the reality of the rotten, dying world. Sooner or later you'll truly be left alone with all your insane ramblings but are you not alone now? Now you see I've been talking like I'm preaching to you but in all truth you is me. I will be left alone as I always am. Forgotten. Abandoned. Wallowing in the silence that will engulf me. All I have are the thoughts running through my twisted mind and they provide no sense of being for me. My will to live is long gone. There's the possibility that I didn't even have it as a child. Now there's a laugh me a child running happily in the rain. There was always a sense of dread over me. Even then I knew that this was all that would come of life. Pain. Sadness. Suffering. Loneliness. Darkness. The desolate one always sitting a little away from the others with a pencil in her hand and one of her many notebooks. Those pages full of fantasies of lives that exist within her. Lives that she wishes were hers but instead she's trapped in an empty shell. All her smiles and laughs are forced and never ring with the happiness she once foolishly believed in. Oh what she would give to once again be that ignorant, gullible fool. But that has gone and won't return no matter how hard she pulls and prods it. All that's left is misery. All that she knows is sadness. Who is she? She is me but you will never see. You don't want to see just like them. You are afraid of what me really is. I am too so I hide it deep in the confides of my shattered heart. I have lived so many days with a heart of broken glass. It has always been that way and it seems I will never be able to fix it.

Will they notice me when they find me in the morning? No I don't think so. I will stay there till the smell burns in there nostrils and will only be discovered when they want to be rid of it. What did I expect nothing was ever satisfactory for them? I bleed still they were not pleased. I made them laugh still they did not take heed of me. I died for the pain they wanted me to feel yet they didn't care. Nothing was ever good enough so did I expect them to be pleased that I had finally succeed in what they thought I did not have the courage to do? Well I did it. Yet they continue to yell and taunt me. I've trapped myself with what I've tried so hard to escape. The blood is soaking the bed she bought me with what I thought was love. If they loved me then why did they ignore my wails of pain? Why did they send me deeper into Hell? No Hell was my life this is just a second stage of it. I wanted to be noticed then I wanted to be left alone now I have both in a way.