Just Like You By Demon_in Paradise

My life, as of now, is over. I'm a dead leaf flowing carelessly in the wind of time, yet, this wind is ever changing on me. Trapped in a case of pain and darkness, so thick is the air that not even the loudest scream could travel through it but a few inches, and that isn't even enough to save me.

Life is a worthless cause of pain and grief, so much so that sometimes I wonder why we all live in the first place if we're going to eventually die. Though, it makes me think of how everything started. We all just, somehow, appeared on this planet of misery and shame.

Time is also of this same effect. It's demented, far more insane than I am. It's fallen into the frozen slush of hell, as I have to some extent. Time is my enemy, my equal, and my brother and lover, and I have pushed it away because I hate it like I hate everything. Like I hate you.

I remember your touch. It was so soft and sweet and demanding, even when you held my small hand in your strong one. And when I was alone or afraid, you would hold me in your arms, your broad shoulders well over exceeding my own power. But you never loved me the way I loved you, and you even told me that you didn't love me, that, in fact, you hated me to no end. Maybe that's why I hate you so much.

Do you remember our long hours spent talking about nothing in particular on those warm, sunny afternoons? Do you remember how you told me you would never, ever leave me? Haven't you ever even considered my feelings, or that I might at least have some? I doubt it. You never cared, did you? What we had was nothing to you. It had no meaning, or at least as much meaning as a headache to you.

I left my memory of old days behind for you. I stripped away the realness of myself so I could be part of your artificial romance. Because that's all it was. Plastic like the cups you would drink from. But did I ever object to where you led me? To what you did to me? To how you treated me? No, not even once, and never did I even think of defying to you.

Then you left me. By myself in that dark room. I was cold and shivering on the floor in the corner, and you had taken my clothes from me. You said I wasn't good enough for them.

Tell me, did you leave me there because I had become as fake as you are? Because that blonde at your side is real, while you are not. Like me, you aren't anything anymore. You've died a long time ago, giving in to the cruelty of life and whoring yourself out, like I did for you, to those with power and money. Is she as moronic as I was? With her well-kept clothing and her neatly cut hair in long tresses that fall down the sides of her nicely shaped head. Was I as beautiful as that? If I was, I am no longer that way. You've left the blood matted in my once silver hair, I know, from peering into the looking glass, that my face is distorted, and my left eye won't open anymore. My clothes are no longer elegant and wondrous, but they are ripped and blood-stained from your wanting in control.

I was a slave to you, wasn't I? Something that meant nothing but good, free service until I either died a horrible death or I escaped. Yes, a thing to you that was only worth my work in the brass coins of old time.

And yet, your touch. Even after everything you've put me through, I still miss your touch, the way I would tremble at the mere notion of contact with you. You still remember that, don't you? Or has this girl at your side made forget your past? Maybe I could come to the conclusion that I love you still, through all the pain, but I'm dead, and the dead cannot love, only hate, only suffer, only want what they cannot have. So this is why I have come to you this final time. I have wanted to tell you that I hate you at the same time I hold on to the small fragments of what I wish was a true love, of what I call my bittersweet memories. That's what you were, bittersweet, in every possible way. I am too, you know, bittersweet, just like you. Just like you. Always.