It is a dark shadow that consumes my heart, eating away at everything I call dear. The blackened darkness that fills my mind matches the color of my heart, and I realize that nothing in life ever means anything, because nothing ever lasts. People die, people are lost, and love only lasts until some better-looking person makes his or her way into your life, stealing away what you thought would be 'forever'. How can there be happiness and hope and joy when pain is ready to eat your intestines at your every move?
I sit in a toilet stall, contemplating this world. There is no such thing as love. We only love one another because of our natural instincts to reproduce. And your love is all a lie, that's all it's ever been. You've never loved me, never even told me you love me, and you didn't ask for me to love you either but I do anyway.
You give a warm smile, an encouraging comment, and I know in your eyes you don't mean it. You're just smiling because it takes less muscles to smile than to frown. You lazy-ass.
I remember a time when I was happy. The sky was blue and the grass was green, and I was loved. I could never have comprehended the pain that would soon writhe within me. Dark, black pain. There is not blue sky and green grass anymore, they have been eaten by the black abyss that grows inside of me, and the world has turned gray, like on old photograph. Of someone dying.
That last, fragile memory of happiness is locked deep inside of the inner demon that torments me. I know I am doomed to walk this world alone, falling into the terrible peace when my time finally comes to die. Only then can I truly be happy. And I'll be dead.
I feel myself shaking, curled up in the corner of my bathroom stall. Some old chick is taking a piss next to me, and I curse the God that created me. I am the Wretched all over again, made by society and all the people that pretend to love me, and the shunned from society. Rain falls down, drenching me (the black abyss has super-powers. It can create storm clouds and rain wherever you are!).
The only way out of this pain lies on the tip of my pocketknife. By actually feeling physical pain, I can drive away the demon inside of my that thirsts for my soul. He already has most of it though, and it's a wonder I can go on. As the blood trickles down my fist, I let the water trickle down my face, forgetting for a moment it will blur my layers and layers of black eye make-up.
This demon will kill me. I scream and struggle, thrashing kicking and biting, but I will never be able to escape. I'm drowning, drowning, drowning in the emptiness that once contained my soul. I will never be let free until the day I finally am laid down to rest.
Every person I have ever loved has lied to me. Every spring dies, to be replaced by a harsh winter. The sun always goes down at night, flowers always wither away. What's the point to any of this?
Hundreds of cuts line the shapes of my wrists, and I can feel the demon inside of my tearing away my insides with his claws. I shall never be able to escape.