Stitches

There's something going on between us.
Which is really a horrible description of the current situation. You're doing one thing, I'm doing another, neither of us having anything to do with the other, because that's just how it is.
So more accurately, there's nothing going on between, around, over, above, or under us. It's such a shame.
We were never very close. You used to walk by and I'd smile and get giddy on the inside when you'd bother to say "Hi." We almost never talked to eachother. Some people would think it's strange, two kids in the same group, exchanging little or no words at all.
It was all I knew.

You were my image of perfection and all that seemed to matter in the world. I fell before I could catch my breath, and you were standing there, looking down at me with that unwelcoming smirk, but I took at is as a sign of...hope? Don't you see that? I trusted you (oh, let's face it, I still do) with my life. I latched onto every word that ever fell from those perfect lips of yours, and took them as Gospel truth.

Even after I was told we couldn't be, I still thought you were telling the truth. maybe we couldn't be. Maybe I was fooling myself. But after a week of no contact and the growing number of scars on my arms, I realized how foolish I was.

You could do this. You just didn't want to. The pressure she was putting on you, the pain and shame you had to endure every day catering to her every need and not getting anything in reward was too much for you. You caved. You became more and more like them. Keeping up the pretty act, hiding your rats in the cellar. But maybe... just maybe... if you didn't think about them, the rats wouldn't be there.

But we both knew I never left. We're still spending our lives in the same school, on the same corridor. But instead of being the one you'd seek comfort in, I'm one of the rats in your cellar, hidden from the world's eyes.

I see you giving up. I watch as you purposly avoid having to look at me, avoiding to answer my questions and greetings. Because I'm not normal.
Fuck you for ever saying that! You're the king of strange, the ruler of the abnormal.

I'm still trying to figure out what's wrong with me. Am I too tall? Maybe too skinny. Maybe it's the combination of both that makes your stomach wrench with hatered when you see me.
Damn you if I don't want to just SCREAM at you. But I love you, and I can't bring myself to do that. Because you wouldn't care anyway.

You were the thread that held me together, even if you didn't know it. Now I'm seeking something else to do that...
The stitches are unravelling and everything's coming apart.
The blood is flowing down like my tears, and it's all over now... I can't hate you.



Note: you probably have no idea it's about you. You probably won't even bother to read.