As I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is the darkness that consumes my soul. I cover my eyes as a sinister grin creeps on my face, _no one understand. _ __ I put on my black makeup that represents the darkness of my mind, and cold blue lipstick just like my cold cold heart. 💙

At this point, my sister barges into my room-unannounced- though, unbeknownst to her, I knew she’d be here eventually; My magical abilities know no bounds!

I glance at her a fleeting look, “I- I didn’t want you to see me like this, my Neanderthalian counterpart..”

She stares at me with a contorted expression that I know signifies fear, and her response further confirms it,

“dude, why’s it so dark in here” clearly speaking on the aura that I exude, “…and what’s that smell-“

“It’s too late!” I exclaim, “my- my soul has rotted, and my heart is wretched”

The evil has taken over! And my sister, woe her, not being able to bask in my dark presence, leaves, covering her mouth and nose and stuttering for mom with interruptions of gaging and retching, all in a most definite sign of defeat. The evil overpowered her.

“The way of darkness is a lonely one” I sigh

*throws on hoodie to cover and shadow eyes and finishes make up 😩

The war had raged for two months before they started drafting men. Our enemies were brutal, unrelenting, raining death on us. Apparently that was excuse enough to start throwing bodies at them. He was one of those bodies. Barely a man, a boy honestly, but he was so eager and willing to protect his homeland, his family. We all were.

We had one week of basic before they shipped us out. And hell, we were ready. At least that’s what we thought. They don’t prepare you for what war truly is, they stuff your head with patriotism, honor, heroism. Ain’t none of that. Just death, mud and survival. We were all supposed to die out there, in that mud. But we didn’t. He took charge, he killed like a animal, and saved us like a hero. And what did that get him? More war. They sent him out to die in a another fight, unwinnable, suicide. But he didn’t, he survived. Battle after battle. He was a war hero, metals covering his chest like armor. We all inspired to be better because of him. But we saw, we knew. His eyes were tired and his hands shook, he was sick of killing. We all were.

Then the war ended. Eight years of death, fire, hell, it was over. We got off those boats skipping home. But home wasn’t welcoming. We were considered murderers to the people we fought so hard for. Spit on, screamed at, left to rot. A lot of our friends, comrades, brothers, couldn’t take it. We all made a pact, one shared by spilled blood. We’d never let them throw us to the wolves again. Soon after another war broke out, somehow worse and more brutal then the last. They begged us, pleaded, and when we refused, they drafted us. We were sick of it. No more we said. So we fought, and we fought hard. We bit back with bullets, we killed with savagery. We spilt our homelands blood, our families blood. We were brutal, he was brutal, there was no room for mercy between us and rightful justice. They stood no chance in the end, we were killing machines, and we slaughtered our masters. And we didn’t stop, probably never will. Not till we take what should of been ours. What will be. And he’ll lead us, to victory, to salvation. I’ll stand by his side no matter what, my brother, my friend, my Caesar.

I’m the Girl who tried But still died in the end

Am I even any better than I was before I haven’t made any progress, I’m still stuck, And I never can be fixed.

I’ll just always be broken.

I’m breaking again slowly but surely And It will come back worse, after really trying I’ll feel like a disappointment for even trying to try in the first place.

Because ultimately I’m still worthless.

And I will fail everyone again. I’m supposed to be strong now…

But I’ve lost hold of the only things I had left.

Again and again How many times will this happen, then end.

I am honest I work hard I put my blood Sweat And tears into what I deem worthy I try my best everyday

You twist my words And weave them into cruelty I work my best You outshine me You put in no effort into your work Your only inspiration is Your urgency to be the best

Your urgency to be the best Always racing ahead of me With ease Your sick smirk as you pass me in my passion Tirelessly I reach for the spotlight I deserve

I deserve this I truly do You cannot imagine how hard I work Everyday I better myself Everyday you only walk forward To see me biting your dust

Oh how I want to Break your legs To pass you How I want to Rip your mouth from your face To never hear your cocky voicd again How I want to Shove your hand Into the spindle you weave your lies on To make people see me how I deserve to be seen

I want to be seen how I deserve to be seen You cut off my ties to the people I care about You feed them your slop And bundle them in you warm blanket of lies The one that paints me as cruel

Now I will paint the picture A picture in dark red paint Soon you won’t be able to do this anymore I need to see you hurt Not a mental spiral I need to see you hurt I need to feel you hurting There must be tears There must be some kind of reward For me finally standing up to you

Maybe you not being around Is reward enough

It happened so fast. I didn’t know what to make of it. All I see before me is a body and blood. Lots of blood. Oh god. What did I do? What happened? “Hi there” I whip around so fast at the voice behind me, almost falling. “Who..?” I see the deepest brown eyes looking down at me with a knowing smirk on his lips. Asshole. “Who are you?” “Someone you’ll get to know very soon.” What? Someone I’ll get to know. What does that mean? Wait. The body. “Wha-“ “Ouch. That looks painful.” He leans past me, looking at the body behind me. “I guess I could have been less messy about it.” “This was you?” “Well, yes. Did you think you were the one capable of doing something like that?” Excuse me. What does he think I can’t handle taking down a grown ass man? The fuck. Fuck him. This rage that I feel is familiar. I relish in it. I let it in. Let it build. “FUCK. YOU.” “Oh, I wish you would.” The brown eyes glint at me as than scan my body from head to toe. My body actually gets hot at the look he gives me. Ugh traitor. Control yourself. “You don’t know what I am capable of and what I have already done.” This asshole has know clue who I am. “I know exactly what you can and will do. I know your secret. And I cannot wait for you to come out and play some more.” He leans into me. Taking up my space. He is so close I can feel his breath on me. I take a step back, shocked. But not nervous. Not scared but enthralled. I give him a smirk as I stare him down. “Play?” “Yes. Play because he was just the first.” He takes a step toward me. And I don’t move. I let him close the gap between us. “Who says he was the first?” I give him a look of pure defiance, but he knows what I am. A part of me beems prideful at what he doesn’t know. That this body is not the first. Not my first. And it won’t be my last.

In the distance Angela could hear Mrs French playing the electric piano off key. Staring into the mirror, She twisted her engagement ring. Her tiara was slightly askew. Her mother adjusted the glittery headpiece. Angela’s veil framed her face in gauzy waves.

“Simply beautiful baby. Everything is going wonderfully. This wedding will be the event of year. Let me help you with Grammy’s pearls,” her mother said.

The necklace felt cold on her throat. Remembering Angela choked and then she coughed from embarrassment. Auntie Nan fetched Angela a glass of sparkling cider. Flash burst before her eyes. Her wedding photographer took a few more candid shots. Angela remembered to smile.

Maryann needed a safety pin. Sarah went to corral the flower girls. The reek of hairspray made Angela’s belly clench. Or maybe it was the bridal gown bodice. The unforgiving boning jabbed at her ribs with every breath. Someone was touching her chignon. Someone handed her the bouquet, her favorites hydrangeas and irises.

Leaning closer mom wished in her ears.

**“I know what is wrong, baby,” mom said. **

**Angela’s eyes grew rounder. She squeezed her mother’s hands. **

“Don’t worry baby. Just focus on deep breathing. Loving your husband for the first time will be special. God has blessed this union. You were made for him.”

A strong knock at the door interrupted them. It was Dad. He was nervous as a cat. It was time. Alan was waiting with pastor Gardner in front of everyone she loved. It was all too late.

“I know Alan would never hurt you.”

Her legs quaked beneath the layers of tulle. Mrs French launched into a rough semblance of the wedding march. Angela smiled broadly. Even though she knew Alain already had.

he was the sun- the breeze coursing through his hair, the force that anchored him to earth.

he was the moon and the stars illuminating the sky.

it was impossible not to think of him; the arc of his brows, the curve of his lips, the line of his chest- impossible.

he was one with y's world. vivid and real. so so close. but not close enough, never close enough. even when their bodies were one, it was never enough.

it would never be enough.

t felt so far away, like a deity y could only pray to and fantasize meeting.

he was truly the warmth on a cold day, the comfort of getting home after a week of work. y didn't know what to do with himself. didn't know how to act when the younger smiled his way, grabbed his hand, kissed the thoughts away.

it wasn't enough- y wanted to consume him, hold him tight and not let go.

but t was the oxygen that filled his lungs and the sunshine that allowed flowers to bloom. y couldn't keep him. t wasn't y's to keep. even if the younger begged for it sometimes, even if y was more than willing.

maybe it shouldn't have been like that- but y couldn't care.

not when t reached out to touch him, grazed his skin, and left him aching for more.

his touch was light, never lasted longer than a few seconds- so unlike y. y who was possessive, liked to see the blues and purples bloom on t's skin liked it when t whined and begged for mercy.

caramel skin stained pink, tears welling up in honey eyes and it wasn't enough. t was still so far away.

It wasn't enough.

y realized it would never be enough.

t was too bright, burned him when he got too close, blinded him if he stared long enough. y. was not enough.

it wore him away, made his restraint thinner every day. made the resentment build in his chest and spill through his mouth. it was not enough. he was not enough. he would never be enough.

it made him angry, made him want to snuff t out- made cruel thoughts whirl in his head and stain his hands.

it. was. not. enough.

love morphed into something y had never known and t was too close, too captivating— too much.

then t's flame burned out, and he was dull, lifeless. and y didn't know what to do. he was restless, couldn't bear to look the younger in the eye.

t was like a sick puppy. wounded and fragile-- too afraid to leave his side. y didn't know what to do.

he wanted this, yet he wasn't satisfied. this was his doing but he couldn't stand it. t was suddenly so insecure, hiding behind y's shadow, blindly following his every move.

he was hiding under big hoodies now, and even his light hair was suddenly dark brown, bright eyes muted.

y did this- and he didn't know how to fix it.

it made him all the angrier, resent the younger even more. harsh words spilled from where they hid in his head and the anger bubbled out without stop.

it was never enough. it would never be enough.

he. was not enough.

(if you’ve read this far, thank you)

Day one:

'The sun came up'

Day two:

'The sun still had the nerve to come up'

Day three:

'Ugh...why does the sun have to rise with me'

Day four:

'Fine, be that way, sun of a B*tch'

Day Five:

'Come onnnnn, don't make me come up there'

Day six:

grabs a sword 'lets see if you rise tomorrow'

Day seven:

'that's better'

the earth had descended into darkness

...

I love you baby 🖤

The knife slices the maid of honor's hand, unleashing the squirt of blood on the mummified toilet paper bridesmaids' party. It splattered on anything in remembrance of innocents. Zermona's face lit up in delight as she wiped the blood of her victims from her eyes. Her hands didn't tremor nor did her breath shorten. She was stone cold still. A relief flattened her shoulders as she grounded her feet into her violent choice. Her pupils focused on Rebecca. Zermona inched closer to the impaled hand and slammed her palms down on it to intensify her pain. Rebecca gasped in agony. Zermona didn't know which delighted her more: finally standing up to her bully of ten years or commanding the room with respect. The liquor sure did fill her veins as she screamed her success to the room. She gripped the carving knife tightly. "repeat it", Zermona hissed at Rebbecca. Rebbecca's face flushed as her tongue wrestled with the tip of her teeth. "Wou... could you?" Zermona doubled stabbed Rebecca's palm, reveling in the victory. "AGAIN." Rebecca was losing too much blood, and she began to fall to her knees. "Let me help you," Zermona replied Zermona poked with her finger in her blood and used the crimson ink to trace the dick on Rebbecca's face. "I think you expressed it perfectly: I can't get enough of a dick." Her happiness filled her stomach as she let out a big laugh. She was no longer holding back her feelings.

I was happy and kind

I accidentally hit a kid

I stole from a store

I fought with my parents

I went to a gang

I killed my first person

I raged a whole war

I killed my parents

I became who I did not want to be