A Low

"People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange..."


I want to believe you.
When you tell me you're there for me, and that everything's going to be fine.
You want to help, I see that. But as you sit in front of me mumbling platitudes, I only float further away from you. All day long I suppress, trivialise, vent, pretend, distract myself... but the darkness in the vault of my thoughts is all consuming. It grips me with cold hands and whispers my worst fears until it's easier to just sink in to this feeling of despair.

Scarred.

By the times I have loved and lost and by wanting to love again.

By being worthy of desire and being enslaved by it.

By believing people become who they are by the choices that they make.



I don't want to listen to your problems and to help you out. I hate you because you've made me hate myself. For some reason this feeling that's existed as long as I have, refuses to be erased. Love leaves permanent stains in your mind. I try to rinse you out but instead I find myself bereft of happy memories, childhood, strengths and beliefs.

I hope the pain you've given me takes yours away.