Author: lucretiabaine PM
Though I am unsure how it happened, it seems I have ceased to be a writer.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Angst/Tragedy - Words: 175 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 1 - Published: 03-27-06 - id: 2141695
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Where there were lines, there are now cuts and
Where there was agony, there are fake smiles.
Art is the same as rape,
And morals are a novelty for the weak;
But I find myself watching from the outside,
Bored and clawing at my skull.
You can feed me compliments
After I starve for days,
But I'll still be the same girl in the mirror.
Dancing in the colored lights I kept to myself
That I hate people,
And I tried not to be agreeable,
But the sounds of a wasted generation
Drowned out my nasal voice
So I settled on choking.
The worst part of bleeding myself is stopping the blood flow,
And the best is knowing I can't feel this pain
Or any pain for that matter.
Sure, I'm empty, but little bits remain—
And I would like them excised.
One day there will be a pretty word for what's wrong with me,
But for now we'll say I'm perfect.