There is a special pain in hating yourself.
I know it, or at least knew it, at least I think. Something had to lead me to be something i'm not. But it was so long ago I cant remember what, or how to get back
I dont hate me because of what I am, I hate me because I ma nothing. Grasping for something to blame for all this pain. Shouting into the void of lost mentality. I am so detached from what is real that looking both ways before crossing the street seems redundant.
In order to clear a path in my mind, I have to know whats in the way. But I cant face the memories presenting themselves as flashbacks and nightmares.
I cut lines in my skin, but there as meaningless as the lines in the writing books i've left empty for fear of seeing whats in my mind reflected in words on their pages. Things ive spent years burying under dissociated mentalities. Bubbling to the surface in panic attacks unbearable in severity.
When there is no past to cling to and there is no proof of a future things lose meaning.
What is meaning anyway,
im impossible to love and easy to forget.
So maybe if I forget myself and everyone else does too; one day il step into the road forgetting to look and lose all this pain and emptiness.
Because those who care dont know, and those who know dont care.
And somtims I feel it creeping in with an adicting lore and ill get lost in the sadness before losing myself again.
I never forget
but im always forgotten
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