Hello! My name is Mariah, I’m 16 years old, and I love writing! Classic literature is what I’m most interested in as of recently.
Hello! My name is Mariah, I’m 16 years old, and I love writing! Classic literature is what I’m most interested in as of recently.
As I walk under the night sky, I can’t help but sense this horrid thing that is to come. This restless thought that a dying star still has enough power—so much power. Maybe I relate more to a star than I thought, slowly dying, watching everything around me shine bright—much like I was before. New stars being born around me with so much power that I might as well be forgotten—even after all I have done. I am nothing but a prick of light amongst billions of bigger and stronger stars that are able to create such viable opportunities. If I burn out, maybe no one will notice I am gone. How wonderful that would be! To be forgotten is such a wonderful thing—why care about being forgotten when you don’t have such things to be remembered for! It is such a bore to try and be remembered. Why live so long trying to create such a stain on someone’s life when you can leave them with nothing. But if I leave now before my time is up, will they finally start to care? Will they talk about how great I was or how I changed so many people’s lives? I never even bothered to help myself! Maybe someone tried to help me, talk me out of what I’m about to do. But I couldn’t care about how they feel, they’re the ones that did this to me. They made me do this! For I hope they try to repent for what they have done to me—oh I hope they do! But it won’t matter, for I know what they have done. Such selfish minds, weeping for the acts they committed. Yet they shall be remembered, while I am forgotten. They will be the ones to make that bloody stain! I shall remain nothing more than a thought that remains in their head until we meet again.
TW: a little grotesque so proceed with that in mind :)
What one might do to be one with someone forever is a taboo topic that most won’t be able to understand. The feeling when I’m with him—it’s an aching sensation I’ve never felt before. A hunger that I shall tell no one about, but his presence is always followed by this craving. To slice off his flesh, to hold him in my stained hands forever—it’s almost too much. I shall wear his blood on my body as a reminder that he will never love another woman like me. While lying next to him, I’m overwhelmed by this devouring urge —to slice him open and climb inside, to truly feel the warmth of his embrace. The thought makes my head spin. To him, I may be nothing but a stranger. But to me, he is what I need to live—he’s the air in my lungs, the blood in my veins. He is everything. You can call me insane, but no one has ever wanted someone the way I want him.
Confess, I must—as it is to much of a burden For what might happen, I cannot comprehend the consequence I must confess this feeling of dread that has stayed in my mind for so long For even the slightest touch could drive me to insanity What sins I must commit to feed this ache—it is almost too much to bear I must shut them out, as they would drag me down with them.
