Innocence must pass and only one winter can pass ignored by sadness. Surely I cried then but didn’t tremble. Anxiety in the surroundings I know so welL, within the people I’ve been inside. I know all their thoughts and I am not a ghost. To them, in fact, at one point, I’ve been the one thing keeping them going. Seems I am only ever temporarily someone’s rock. I pass on and on, to the next person that needs something to live for. But they don’t realise that when I graze their lives I take nothing. In fact, I lose something of myself every time because they depart- forgotten. I want to feel, but I can’t. These people aren’t my friends. They promise me they care, I can rely on them. Sounds nice.
Nice but pointless because either way I’m going. They are merely shadows and I am looking into a mirror. My life; the glass. The glass made of falsities. The person looking in is temporarily sensitized when the scenes and actors are believable- now the actors are becoming less and less talented as I grow older. Apart from the illusion of good looking boys and the artificial pleasures they bring.
See, if they knew me they wouldn’t like me because they would know they equate to nothing.
(People always break down when they are told they are nothing and nobody loves them. They cannot face it.)
For this world is my own creation and these people.. want to be their own. But, really, they are so very predictable. They are nothing to me. Blood is nothing, my father knew that but he is an extremist. I do not intend to damage where it is unnecessary but if needs be, I’ve learned not to hold back for he taught me you only have yourself and when people have a hold on you they rape it and you’re left wanting to drive off a cliff. Slowly dying in an endless winter, they cover it up with manufactured happiness in the forms of sex, money and all the other vices and mediums. I am all for escapes.
The difference is I can tell of the harsh. See, they bullshit saying ‘you can always come back to me’. Why would I want to? These people can’t even help themselves.
‘My life makes no sense’. So, how the fuck am I supposed to care? Why the fuck would I want your help? These humans are far too sentimental- a head full of bollix memories that aren’t going to them anywhere.
‘Oh Amber, remember that time you said you loved me?’ Yes. What of it? People say things they don’t mean every second. ‘Here’s your change’, ‘Thank you’. They aren’t grateful. I the end, people are selfish.
And it’s selfish to expect anybody else to care.