Without a greater reason,
There lie those
Who try to sleep.
They pull away,
React
With emotions–
Simply because
They’ve learned it’s useless
To fight.
They know that,
Unless they scream,
Not a soul
Will listen.
Despite their protests–
Both loud,
And silent–
They know
They will grow
Tired of reacting,
Tired of caring.
They know
They will cease
To exist inside–
As that is how
They are treated
Outside.
I’ve been patient.
I’ve been calm.
I’ve understood.
I’ve defended you to my parents.
I’ve watched over you.
I’ve watched anime with you.
I’ve let you spend time with her.
I’ve let you emotionally control me, abuse me.
I’ve let you think
That throwing money at me
Will make me okay again.
I’ve let you call me clingy.
I’ve let you leave me alone.
I’ve let you hurt me.
But now that time is done.
If you want me,
Come and get me.
If you want me,
Give me a reason to let you
Ever touch me
Again.
If you love me,
If you want me,
Show me some freakin’ proof.
Choose me for once.
Choose me, your GIRLFRIEND,
For once.
Put away your friends.
Come up with some ideas.
Spend time with me–
And don’t act like it’s a chore.
Stop making me compete.
Stop making me hurt.
Stop making me love you,
When it’s getting to be clear
You don’t care
Anymore.
I can take no more.
No smiles,
No laughs,
Nothing fake.
Nothing more than this.
I’m tired, and it’s starting to drain
At the part of me that
Still tries to feel.
It hurts the most,
It hurts so much–
Is there a light
At the end of the tunnel?
Is there a way out of here?
A way to make
My heart beat again?
I can take no more–
So stop making me love you.
Stop making me put up
With the same pain
Again and again.
Stop playing with me.
I was never very good at making friends. I mean, I can’t say that I wasn’t good at it–I just can’t say that I had many of them. You know how it is–you move around a lot, especially in my line of work. I never get a chance to grow close to anyone around me. Unfortunately for everyone else, you also have a tendency for your friends to randomly die off.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t a killer-for-hire–or, if you want to get all technical about it, a Bladesman.
It gets so hard to get close to people when you know that, at any point, you could be called upon to kill them.
Take right now, for instance. I’m sitting here, leaning down and looking at Amadeus. He’s frowning, probably because he can’t really stop the bleeding. He’s trying to gasp out words, probably trying to ask why I was killing him.
I just wish I could explain to him that I didn’t WANT to kill him, that I was only hired to do it for about six hundred grenders (which would be just about enough to buy some new chairs for my new cabin, and I REALLY wanted some new chairs)–but, no. Dying people are boring to talk to, even if I’ve been invited over to his house repeatedly.
In fact, I’d come over to play some cards with him–but, when he won, I of course had to kill him.
For other reasons then my wounded pride, of course.
I had, after all, had to pay him the thirty grenders’ bet we’d made before the game.
I never should have gambled with him.
I look down at Amadeus as he breathes his last, shrugging to myself. It was time to go on my way.
I couldn’t figure out where he’d put the money I’d given him, though.
Well, no matter. I’ll go down to town tomorrow, and collect the money I got from killing Amadeus. Even with the thirty-grender loss, I’d still get the chairs I wanted.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll go out and make some new friends?
It’d be nice to not be lonely, for once.
I’m silent now. I suppose
It would always have ended up
This exact same way–
But I can’t explain
Why I wished so hard for it
To be different.
I knew that I would end up alone.
(But I’m not alone–
(So why do I feel this way?)
I knew I would end up hurt.
However, I never–
I never expected it
To hurt just like this.
I expected the same pain
I had always known–
But not the pain
Of feeling like
I never felt at all.
I ended up somewhere,
Drifting out of place and time.
I try my best
To breathe–
Trying to latch on,
But feeling like it’s a crime
To feel unneeded, unnecessary, unloved;
Well, if it’s a crime:
Then I’m a criminal.
Half-Mad Writer's Homeland 