history

it started with an itch under my skin and a deadline in my eyesight
it ended with a bloody fist and a bruised ego.
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it's always been violent, with me. you need to remember that. it's always been violent because somehow i got violence confused with expression and decided to always wear a scowl.
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you used to be so hungry for fame.
i've always been wolfing down the infamy.
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it was pretense that brought us together, it was me who tore us apart. because i don't like being lied to, i don't like being cheated. don't try to slide the queen of hearts out of your shirtsleeve, she's been in my wallet for years.
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i don't have cheekbones, talent or motivation. what i do have is miles and miles, gallons and gallons of bile and venom and vehemence because that's easier, isn't it?
you should know. you've got the same.
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it was your fightclub against my lessthanzero
funny, that.
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sometimes i catch a glimpse of you, in a sweaty club, in a darkened bar, in a brickcrumbling alley. sometimes i think you catch a glimpse of me, despite my best efforts.
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sometimes you think people want more than you can give. you're wrong. they don't want what you have to give. they just want to know everything about you, everything that makes you you. they want to understand, because if they understand, then they can own. and if they can own, then they can be powerful.
don't you get it?
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so you tried to destroy the dream you'd built. while i tried to reenact my nightmares.
we failed, miserably
victory never suited our complexions
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my personality has always been a lie – i can spin them faster than i can say them. it may be that i don't want people too close, so i let them befriend someone else. maybe if i didnt, maybe you and i would have gotten on better.
except for the fact you do exactly the same thing.
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twins.
we were always reluctant recalcitrant twins.
steeped in alcohol, spitting our teeth on the ground.
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i started as an itch under your skin and a deadline in your eyesight
you ended with a bloody fist and a bruised ego.

the bitter single being

i know all these stupid couples. all these stupid couples with rings on their fingers and promises of forever on their lips, and these stupid people who can see five years ahead, when i can't even see if getting up tomorrow morning will be worth it. and all these stupid couples think i'm self absorbed, i'm selfish, i'm stupid. just once, i'd like them to notice.

x

i'm very tired. very very tired and if you asked, i'd tell you i was beyond tired, whatever that means. i can't see a point to all this anymore. after all, when no one thinks what i'm doing is worthwhile - why should i? and i know i used to talk about supernovas and i used to get back up so quickly, but there just doesn't seem to be a reason anymore. its offputting.

x

a lack of affection has always haunted my household.

goodbye service

thinking you aren't worth fighting for is wildly different to knowing that you aren't. one has you gasping, one has you sobbing. and you remember potential, red hair and dangerous words. you remember how the world was in your hands until you threw it away for a chance to be good, to be loved, to be valued.

and you know that you never believed in regret or hindsight, but maybe maybe maybe another shot at all this, and you wouldn't mess it up so badly. maybe you'd be different.

probably not.

x

the words stopped. they stopped and they stuttered. a giant blockage that made me think maybe this wasn't what i wanted. a fat girl told me i was ugly. a french boy used his fingers in ways that should have been illegal, and whatever it was that i took in amsterdam, it damaged me. i wanted to be a child again, even though i knew i couldn't. i wore dresses, party dresses, coloured dresses and hoped that my small stature would have me mistaken for a three year old, and someone would hold me until the universe stopped hurting. when we were younger, everything was easier because we were deaf, blind and dumb. the innocence rolled off us in waves, in hurricanes, in kisses. now when i look outside myself, the world seems stupid, seems doomed and crazed and like nothing i do will make a difference. i never wanted this, i never asked but it is what it is and once i would have said i'd fight it tooth and nail. now though, i'm much more inclined to button my lip and say nothing.

because now i am a joke. i am a jester. a fool. people look through me with eyes of scorn. i have failed, spectacularly so, and they want to make sure i never forget it. recovery is not an option. i threw myself off my pedestal, caught my limbs in thorns and still refused to lower my head. there is no room for people like me. for heretics, for intellectuals, for academics, for dreamers. people laugh at me when i open my mouth and fanciful ideas come out. i am surrounded by the self conscious insecure awkward, and i am the easiest target available. because now i am i a joke, i am a jester. but they forget that i was always a fool.

x

it's becoming apparent that i don't like anyone i know, and that they don't like me. so i'm getting vicious, i'm getting nasty and i'm tearing myself a new hole in the world. i spend hours sobbing on my own, and no one ever comes to stroke my hair. so i'm getting vicious, i'm getting nasty. i'm getting single minded. i'm getting back up and i'm getting stronger. every wall i put up has been knocked down - by me. because no matter how bruised i get, or how sad, or how hopeless, i still want to win. more than anything.