Two-Step

Step forward, step back, forward, then back.

They taught me how to dance... and then I learnt to dance with you, and forgot everything else. This is not how it's supposed to be.

I should have known better. I'm old enough and smart enough, but I've never been detached enough. Never drag someone else into a life that's too messed up to hold its own. No one new can fix what you yourself can't, not if it involves your heart.

If I'd met you earlier, or later... But 'what if's don't matter anyway.

And it's the same cycle, over and over, like a beginner's waltz where no one knows any steps but the three.

I want to let you go. I do. I swear I do. You're happier now, from what I hear, and there are people who will love me and need me just as I am. But I need you.

I call you sometimes, just to hear your voice. I text you, hoping against hope that you will respond, if only to say you never want to hear from me again, because I crave that connection. I never thought I'd sink so low, not for anyone. But I have, and I can't talk myself out of it. I don't understand. Is it because I wronged you? Is it because you left, and not me? Am I losing touch with reality from hoping so much? I don't know how to let you go, and so, everyday, I play back pictures of us, all ending with you walking away. I've told you I wouldn't try to talk to you anymore. I don't know how I will, but I'll try. Forgive me if I fail sometimes. It's only because I miss you and I love you in a way I'll never understand. Which is why I'm trying to let you go, even though I fail. I wish you'd talk to me, tell me again that there's nothing here. Hopefully if I heard it enough, it'd sink in. But maybe you know me better than I know myself, and it'll never be enough. Maybe it's just not worth the effort for you. The thought hurts, so why won't it cure me? This has gone on too long.

To the other one. The one who saved me, against all odds. I thought that gratitude would be enough. That I could give you my life without all of my heart. How stupid could I be? And why did you let me? I used your love for me. I may not have known it, but how can that make it better? I love you too, but not enough. How can that make sense? And after what I've been through, how can I expect you to go through it too?

I'm sorry for the mess that is my life. A month ago, I'd have given up, I'd have said I couldn't take it anymore, and I'd have tried to kill myself. Today, I have to go on. I'm not sure whether that's strength, or stupidity.

My Kryptonite

... is you.

I never learn, do I? If you open yourself up to people, you give them the power to hurt you. They may not mean to, will swear to you that they'd rather do a million unpleasant things like sleeping on a bed made exclusively of live, writhing snakes and thorns, but believe them at your peril. Most often, they'd make it feel like it's your fault. Not that I'm perfect, but no one deserves to be shunted aside until they're convenient, or to have someone be angry with them for needing time.

So, screw true love. Screw relationships. Just screw 'em all.

Death Knell

Slipslip sliding
mad eyes writhing,
the Gorgons' dark breath
foretelling her death,
down the slope she goes
where to, no one knows.

"The Earth, she's hard",
so sang the bard
who kenned well what he said.
The dying soul has fled
into the deeps of hell
called by the pealing knell.

Hello

You might've noticed this whole blog has been in the third person so far. In case you were wondering, which I doubt you were, 'cause no one seems to read this anyway, it was this way because I wanted to distance myself from the part of me that felt all those things.

This has been my venting blog for a while now, it's just that the venting takes a different form from F###F###F###F###!!! though that would be nice. I just can't make myself say the word unless I'm really sad or angry. Comes of living with your grandparents for too long, I guess. :D

Why, then, am I taking a break from the third person? Maybe because I want to make this my main blog. Maybe because the last few weeks have been difficult, and I want to connect with something, even if it's just a blog.

So, since I'm starting over, I thought I'd say hi. So. erm. Hi. *awkward wave*

I'm tired, I'm sad, I'm hurt. And I know I have to keep pretending nothing happened so I won't worry my family. I'll figure this out. I know I will.

The Darkness Returns

She doesn't know how to begin. She takes a deep breath and tries to start over, but none of it makes any sense. She can't remember how this happened. How she ended up here, surrounded by people, feeling all alone again. She thinks it's funny that she's feeling this way, because all she remembers is a warm, fuzzy feeling of happiness, belonging... and then this.

She knows it's her fault, whether she did it consciously, or whether her subconscious was trying to re-create the environment which it'd been in most of her life. But she can't remember why or what, it's all just one huge blur. The wrong choices, people hurt.

She remembers pain. Overwhelming pain. Drowning in it, the flood consuming her, seeping through her, welcoming her back. She caused pain and that pain caused her pain. The knowledge that it couldn't be changed, that sometimes, there's just nothing for it but to leave, sinking in finally.

Hate

She feels it throbbing through her veins, pulsing, intense.. She wants to tear apart the people who do this to them. They are the scum of the Earth.

She doesn't trust herself to speak. No, she's not afraid that she'd regret what she wants to say, she just doesn't want to allow them to see her lose control.

They leave.

She throws a glass at the wall, watching it as it appears to shatter in slow motion, splashing water everywhere.

Rebirth

She closes her eyes and slips into slumber but at the stroke of midnight, wakes. The darkness surrounds her, making her claustrophobic. She feels trapped. She closes her eyes to keep the darkness out, but that just brings it closer, into her. She sets it aside, makes it part of her, and yet apart from her.

She watches over it, nourishes it, makes it grow...

She watches and waits. Somewhere inside her there's a stirring. Something fighting free.

She lets go... and it is born.

She dreams...

.... of murder, of torment, of mutilation.

Blood is streaked through her dreams, glaring crimson through the night. She is repulsed, and yet revels in the river of gore.

Death is not to be feared, but welcomed. Pain... so much pain. Not just her own, but of those she loves. She sees it and feels nothing but a strange sense of elation at their sufferings distilled into her dreams.

She fears what she becomes, a Hyde wrested from her waking Jekyll. And yet, there is power. Such power she cannot resist. She needs to feel it fill her, strengthen her, infusing steel into her own blood. She drinks it in, glorying in its pulsing pungence.

Then she wakes.