Everyone is so god damned fake. You say you missed me, and then make no hesitation to leave me once more. I try to open up and talk about things I've bottled, things that have begun to fester inside, but then anyone I try to let any of it out to disappears. I think I'm really losing it.
My scars make shadows upon my wrists. Small, but just enough to make them pop, enough to make them seem even larger than their already noticeable size. As if I needed even more of a reminder, or an enhancement to the same reminder, of what I already regret and want to pretend isn't there, or ever was.
I lie awake these recent nights, sobbing, reaching out for anyone who isn't there beside me. Each time I open my tear-clouded eyes and witness firsthand the predictable emptiness, I curl up, remembering that my hope was pitifully vain.
Smiles, everywhere. Not one for me, never one upon me. My invisibility proves its existence every day I arrive at school. I did not wish for this. I never wanted this. My half-existence is truly the meaning of being alone in a crowd. And with this, we return to the point of human falsity.
Fake. Every god damned person.
Alone. Every fucking day.