"Your words blazing through my head. Pounding inside of me, I don’t understand yet again. Should I apologize to you? For being so weak? So broken,so damaged, so rotten. That I actually feel like I’ve lost the spark to life. You keep shouting, screaming, hurting, and I just don’t understand why. I know for a fact I may be hard to care for, I know it’s like embracing thorns into your palm, or chewing raw glass, but you know I try my best during bad times. I can’t help that I am sick, I can’t help I feel like this, I can’t help there’s nothing left inside. I can’t help nothing is right with me, but please be merciful. Try and remember it’s nothing I’ve chosen myself, if I could change my head I would. I swear to you I would, I do not enjoy this. Psychoses, blanks, not knowing what’s real and what’s a dream. What you’ve said, and what you haven’t, what I have done, and haven’t done. As you shout, reminding me about the fact nobody has the energy to put with that, with me. I assure you not even I do. I am very well aware about how bothering it is. How ugly, repulsive, and useless that mood is, but even I know that very well. There’s this little voice inside of me that says it wants to be understood. That’s all it’s every wanted, it wants to take up the place. My space, my place, my time, but either one of us don’t dare anymore. Because it’s not worthy of your time nor you. Can you forgive me for being so screwed up? You see, we have more than a friendship, but I was raised in chaos. And slowly and painfully it has infected my blood, stained my skin, spots of evil and insecurities, of gentleness and immodesty. Beauty marks and ugly defects. I am just not good enough to function like this. I wish I wasn’t this bad, this vague, this messy. Or so secure of the insecure. There’s many faults with me, being with me is not a winning situation. Maybe a giving one, but I will lose. Because I am filled up to the brim with sadness. That it spills over on you. I always wish to give you love, but my love is like a stone that’s too hot to hold. It’ll burn, it’s like the prettiest deadliest fangs that have touched your neck. It’s like liquid poisonous sugar, that just chokes you. What is there to love in such a sad filled heart? What is there to adore in such harsh words. What is there to love within my heart or mind anymore. I don’t know what it is, but I doubt it’s gone. Broken toys should be thrown away and not played with. You’ve calmed down, you stare at me. I just look down and away, you ask if I can stop thinking bad things about myself, and my lips open and I say, “I will try.” It bounces around the room, and I want you to accept it. That little voice speaks again to me, it says it wants to be loved, I reply it can’t be. It asks why, I say that broken toys are not meant to be loved."