Amazing.

I'm worthless.

That's all I can really think of as I watch the rain fall from the light grey morning sky outside my window, lying in our silk sheets and swiss cotton duvets, feeling those same droplets rolling down my face. My head is still spinning from last night and everything is a fucking blur, yet it's so fucking clear all together. It's one of those times when I just wish I could put a fucking bullet in my brains and just end with everything for once and for all. It's times like these when I just wish I had succeeded.

At times everything comes back; the drinks from last night, the fucking car parked in a weird angle on the big ass driveway in front of the house, my clothes all wrinkled and still sort of wet from the storm last night, making all the beddings humid and messy, not really caring. I never cared for those things anyway. Not really. The arguments are still vivid in my mind, the heavy booze, pills and what not still making my already empty stomach feel dizzy and contracted, like an old, dry rotten tomato, blackened, absolutely disgusting.

Sometimes I wonder if it's just a bad dream, if this is just a parallel universe where I get transported to in my darkest times, where everything just comes back and bites on my ass. To remind me I'm a fuck up, something that doesn't even deserve to live in reality and suffer the pain from it. Something that doesn't deserve to live all together, actually. And who does, really? not me. Not with all the things I've done, do; all those things that make me who I am. That make me the fucking bastard, selfish asshole I am. Yeah, I am. I know I am. Only a motherfucker can actually neglect everyone around him, like they don't fucking matter, when in reality, they were the most important thing in the entire world, the only thing that was always there, untouched, like conserved in fucking formaldehyde; everlasting, picture perfect.

Or so I thought.

I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment, feeling like I was going to pass out at any minute. I swear, if I could take everything back, the insults, the attitude, the harsh comments... the neglecting. The amount of times I've given them my back, because I was too busy with other shit to actually pay attention to what was important, the amount of fucking pills I had last night, trying to fucking end it all, the moments of absence, pain... the pain I caused to her... damn, I would in a fucking blink. Hurting her is what kills me the most. It's beyond love, way beyond any sort of stupid feeling from a movie or a cheap teenage novel written by some Mormon author who doesn't even know how to conjugate properly... beyond the love a little boy could have for their mother. I'm not even sure it's even love. She always jokes saying she came from outer space, that's why she has all that colored skin just like mine, matching multi-colored hair. Sometimes she seems so normal you can only laugh at her comments.

Other times, I actually sit back and wonder if she's even real.

I wonder when exactly things fucked up so badly, to the point that I'd end up doing these things... to the point I not only destroy myself but I also destroy every single thing I touch, every single thing that surrounds me in this environment of nothingness I complain I live in, when in reality is full of good things. Exactly when did I decide I was alone, when I had the most important people in my life, when I had her. It doesn't make sense. None what-so-fucking-ever. Right now, they all seem to be something ethereal; ghosts, flying away, leaving their sorrows behind, making me feel every single ounce of guilt and regret for all I've done. For all the things I shouldn't have done. Where is that gun again? oh, right.

There is no gun.

There is no fucking gun. Or pills. Or razors, knives, sharp objects. Or poison. Or drugs; not even a bottle of booze in the entire house. Well, I do have to thank myself and my fucking antics for that one, don't I?

Light, thin fingers brush against my cheek, tucking behind my ear a thin strand of hair, pushing it away from my face, my skin looking way too pale (more than usual), unhealthy, her big, round hazel orbs piercing holes in my green, bloodshot eyes. Her eyes always said thousands of stories, even with just one single look. Right now, they were almost filled with tears. The same fucking tears that were there, multiplied by a million, when she found me last night on the bathroom floor, empty flask of pills in one hand, an old almost-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on my other one, screaming desperately and trying to call an ambulance.

My own tears keep falling, unstoppable, not really making any noise. Not sobbing; whimpering. I didn't have the strength. I can't even feel the sharp sting of the IV I had to use the entire night, the IV that kept feeding me all night after they emptied and washed that old, shrunk raisin that's my stomach. I bite down on my lip, wondering if she would just vanish if I even try to reach closer, like a fucking oasis; just another ghost. My big, calloused fingers reach her naked waistline, barely touching, brushing her soft hourglass figurine, reaching the hem of her cropped top, those little t-shirts that always made me smile and run after her around the house, playing dumb as I try to sneak my hands around her curves and underneath the clothes, feeling up her warm, soft colored skin, the shapes I've memorized with my digits, lips, tongue.

Now I'm even scared of getting any closer. I know she isn't real... she can't be. Because no one in their sane mind would still be here, right next to me in this bed we share. No one did, before her... not even the one I used to love, not even the one I put a ring around her finger, who just... left. All the sudden, without saying a word. For years I blamed myself; I knew that even if her letter didn't really say anything, I was the one to blame for that. But she... she made me believe that the reason why that other bitch left was because of her own desire, and not my fault. She made me believe that I was perfect... not knowing that she's the one that makes me perfect. That no matter what I do... how many times I fuck up... I'm perfect. She really is from another galaxy, another fucking universe. People like her don't exist here, in this world we live in. No one could really say a suicidal fuck, a drunk ass alcoholic addicted piece of shit, depressive bastard is perfect, no matter how many times he fucks up.
And yet, she does; is. She is real, and she's right there in front of me, silently crying with me, staring in my eyes, making my heart ache horribly as she does so.

A soft whisper is heard, almost a mumble. Her supple lips move. "I-I love you", and I feel like I could die right now; it could be my end for all I cared, and yet I wouldn't fucking move from my place. I wouldn't, because the only fucking reason I have to keep living, even if it's a fucking lie, even if... even if it's all bullshit, even if my life is absolutely miserable, a futile attempt of perfection in a world that doesn't allow it, is to hear her voice, her sweet, velvet voice say those words. Because I know she means them. I don't know how, I don't even know if I'm actually the sane one and she's the wacko; I don't care. I know she actually does... no matter what I do or say, she does. And that's enough for me not to want to actually grab a fucking tie and hang myself in my huge dresser, full of glamorous clothes I don't even wear.

"H-how can you?" I don't even recognize my voice as it comes out from my throat; dry, empty... dead.

She got closer to me, and I felt my legs shaking, at the border of the abyss. Her arms wrapped around my neck, soft, her skin feeling like soft feathers, almost like a pure, red cardinal's wings. She loves cardinals. My head looks down, scared of meeting her eyes now, because when she does, she... she kisses me, and I don't deserve it. Not anymore. As I do, she pulls me closer, my head hesitant, close to her chest, that place I love lying over; her beautiful, big, round, soft breasts. And it's funny, because most people would say I am a pervert. Don't get me wrong, I am but... at that exact moment, the body I would normally lust over like the sinner I am is the one thing that gets me on my knees, hugging her waist desperately and cling to it, crying and seeking comfort just like a 3 year old.

"Because" She whispers, kissing my dirty hair; nothing like her perfect, colored doll locks. "I could name multiple reasons... b-but I don't have to" My eyes close, trembling against her comfy chest, my favorite pillow. She is so perfect... and I really don't deserve her. No one does; absolutely anyone. She makes me feel like I'm amazing, everything around her is. She makes it so.

"B-but I don't deserve you... I k-keep hurting you."

"Look at me" She demands, and I don't really dare, yet I do, those big, wet eyes staring into my unworthiness. "Life isn't fair... for anyone. It never is. But you made me fall in love with you... it was you, all you. S-so I don't really care about who deserves what. All I care about... is you. N-no matter what... it's you."

Her words feel like stabs in my chest, repeatedly, knife twisting, opening wounds and letting the blood drench my messed up clothes. She deserves a much better life than having to put up with me, with this. She deserves the perfect world people describe in kid's tales, with fluffy pink cotton candy clouds, gingerbread houses without witches around, streets made of rainbows, heart shaped cars and fluffy little bears with colored fur and white bellies with drawings on them, preaching about love and singing cute songs about it. She doesn't deserve this... shit, this slap in the face every day. I'm too selfish to voice it out though, to actually push her away. I can't live without her there, without her beautiful frame on my bed, lying next to me, waking up to her face every day, messy hair and tangled sheets over our naked bodies, bringing me breakfast wearing my t-shirts as dresses, pulling my hair back when I'm kneeling on the floor puking my guts out, slapping me in the face to regain conscience when I'm too far from it and laughing with me as we watch horror films, throwing popcorn to other people in the movies or just making out in random places, pissing them off and making others uncomfortable like two fucking teenagers.

She became into something much more powerful than just a girl. Probably because she wasn't just any girl. She was... everything to me. My religion, everything I believed in... the only fucking thing I believed in. The only one thing that would never let me down, that would always actually be there when I needed her, and when I don't. I can't let my beliefs go, and I can't... do this to her all the time. Those eyes... those eyes don't deserve those tears. They don't match with her angelic features, button nose, perfect, soft cheekbones, almost invisible freckles around her alabaster skin, a perfect beauty mark on the side of her eye.

"I-I wish... I was amazing." I chuckle bitterly.

"You are. One day... you'll realize you are." She nods, and suddenly, her velvety lips brush my cracked, dry ones, barely ghosting over them, making my legs weak, my demons escape my body and go somewhere else, somewhere far away from reality. I start sobbing, feeling my eyes giving out and bigger tears slip from my closed eyelids as I cling even harder to her frame.

"D-don't leave me." I mumble, pathetically, the rain falling heavily from the sky, harder than ever.

"I won't".