Cadaverous
August
It all crashed down. A catatonic explosion and no survivors. I felt as if my bones were scattered across the world, or burned to ash from such an explosion, but somehow I remained. Stuck in this place that seemed equivalent to Hell.
I've been thinking a lot about death lately. I keep saying I'm going to die young, and I've started to believe it. No one could survive through this unless they were given aid. Unless someone noticed. I thought that the day my mother called, screaming through the phone line about how people were concerned, people were talking about my obsession. Then the conversation switched about my father ratting me out about lies. They were all lies. Every word coming from her mouth. She was gullible enough to believe her daughter had turned on her. As if I ever would.
Instead, it was everyone else who turned on me. My father, my two sisters and my mother who fought amongst themselves until it became so twisted that they turned to the reject to release all their fury on. They use me.
Therapy. She threatens me with it constantly and I've come to learn that it's empty words. Though it scares me a bit when she suggests it. It scares me because on the inside I feel hope, as if that is what I've been wanting. It wouldn't be the first time I've gone, and I don't think it'll be the last. If someone actually takes this all seriously. They don't, though.
Nothing is serious. I'm just a joke.
Then why is nobody laughing?
I've been thinking a lot about death lately. I keep saying I'm going to die young, and I've started to believe it. No one could survive through this unless they were given aid. Unless someone noticed. I thought that the day my mother called, screaming through the phone line about how people were concerned, people were talking about my obsession. Then the conversation switched about my father ratting me out about lies. They were all lies. Every word coming from her mouth. She was gullible enough to believe her daughter had turned on her. As if I ever would.
Instead, it was everyone else who turned on me. My father, my two sisters and my mother who fought amongst themselves until it became so twisted that they turned to the reject to release all their fury on. They use me.
Therapy. She threatens me with it constantly and I've come to learn that it's empty words. Though it scares me a bit when she suggests it. It scares me because on the inside I feel hope, as if that is what I've been wanting. It wouldn't be the first time I've gone, and I don't think it'll be the last. If someone actually takes this all seriously. They don't, though.
Nothing is serious. I'm just a joke.
Then why is nobody laughing?