niav

I am so fraile. Following, trustingly kissing the toes of those who later tred upon my spirit. I never stand up for myself, I am a coward. Afraid, always, of what comes next. Entangled within daydreams which I live in, subject to disillusionment when the bottom falls out from safety. The people I think care about me always fade away and once again I'm left cold and frightened. I can never get warm...my fingers tell all, one touch to cheek and bleakness prevails. I just want warmth, a soft blanket and a warm body to bundle, but intangible hopes are product of illrepressible choking. The air is fridged, and burns my lungs, and I will fall again incompetent. For a moment everything seems within my grasp yet deterriorates away.

At times I just wish I could be someone else. I hate myself, seemingly put together to everyone else, but I see the real me. I'm ugly inside. I'm scarred and deformed, a repulsive Frankenstein of defalcation. Were I not so cowardly I'd finish it off, but I'm too squeamish to attepmt a death. This must be it, no one can truely love me, it's just a matter of time before they all turn. I need to deaden the pain, numb the suffering with sleep as I always do. I'll wake tomorrow dreaming again, eager for my desires of contentment, clutching to my love. This is it, no more. He's all I care about, and all I'll look to.

Insecure
Inadequate
Dispensible