This is it...Is this it?

I thought today would be busy so I didn't plan to meet up with anyone. So basically it's just me and my parents. I feel like a spare part because the removers did most of the packing. Bored, useless and slightly lonely. Was my last day supposed to be so depressing?

It was an 8:15 start this morning. You ever have one of those days when you wake up earlier than you wanted to and then you can't get back to sleep? Yeah, that kind of thing. Still the removals people were here at 9am so I had to be presentable. Me and mum took some things to the charity shop. The assistant didn't look too pleased with our offerings. Whatever happened to a smile and a thankyou?

Still, the morning was filled with uttered obscenities, raspy voices asking for fag breaks, the sound of tape being ripped away from the roll all in one go. They use so much, it could keep the tape companies going for decades...

There's words echoing, reverberating inside my skull, bouncing off its walls. They're my thoughts, jumbled. I can't understand what I'm trying to think, trying to feel. Do I have to try? Do I have to understand why I'm feeling like this? Or is it just me?

~facewithoutaname~

Beautiful Girl

Beautiful girl, whatever went wrong? So carefree, so alive, so illuminating to all those around you... Your fiery spirit turned into a curse, your words of sweet natured affection turned to words of disdain. Whatever went wrong?

You don't have to put up with their silly lies, their stupid games, their ridiculous challenges. Whatever happened to individuality?

You used to stand up for what you believe in, you used to shine but each day your glow seemed to fade, slowly...painfully... The glow's gone, each day was becoming more of a burden. You're struggling to keep up with the crowd that's constantly changing.

You find a girl, slightly younger than you. She's pretty. Too pretty. You push her, you shove her to the ground, you tell her she's ugly. Do you realise how much of an ugly word ugly is? She's crying now. Her pain can never match yours though. You feel good, you feel satisfied, you feel strong. You can conquer the world.

The voices return to you telling you you're inadequate, you're ugly, you're insignificant. You sit in a dark corner and break down. Your tears are not just your own, but the tears of the girl you hurt. Sick pleasure. Who cares if it's sick? It's pleasure none the less. Quite the hedonist. Yeah, it keeps you going through it all. You hated life at home, you hated having to impress people constantly. You loved to feel strong.

You see the girl again as she walks by the following day. She still looks pretty. No bruises yet. You have to change that. You tackle her from behind. The first punch was satisfying, but still you wanted tears. Striking the face - twice, three times. She winces, lying on the floor, tears sliding down her cheeks. You grab her clothes and you're about to give her the blow that knocks her unconscious when you hear a gurgle. You insist she repeats what shes trying to say, littering your sentences with obscenities. "I love you", she cried. You say something homophobic, you think this girl has a thing for you. "No!" she cries, mustering the strength to speak, "I love you just as God does. He always will love you." Her voice wavered among her tears and she tried to smile a crooked smile. "Beautiful girl, don't lose sight of how wonderfully you were made." You let go, searching for words but your throat tightens. You can't speak. Tears slide down your own face as you slump to the floor. The pretty girl sits up ignoring the blood trickling down her face. She puts her arm around you and you can hear muttering. She's praying.

I see you, your glow is steadily coming back. Beautiful girl, don't let yourself go. Don't change for anyone.