Friday, September 2, 2011

Dried blood.



& after everything, you thought you'd learned, to let go of the pain. To stop the self-reproach. 
You thought the guilt would go away. But it doesn't, it sticks to you. It forms a part of you, and every single second of desperation and lonely nights, it comes up. Out of nowhere, it reminds you again what kind of person you are, how repulsive and unworthy. It tells you and warns you not to get too happy, not to get too attached. Because 
"Your failures and your faults. They stick with you. They globe into ugly,cancerous growths inside you and make you want to die."
I want to die, not because nobody's treating me right, not because nobody's treating me good. But because, I'm the black sheep. I'm in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Don't waste your time on me. 

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