What would it take for you to finally and genuinely love me? Would you ever or would you just feel regret? How about guilt? I should resent you but I can’t find a bone in my body that feels that way. I know I’m being used. I notice it more and more each day. I wish you would notice how you’re making me feel. I shouldn’t have to unclothe myself for you to love me. Notice me. Or even want me. But thats the thing, you don’t even love me. I don’t even think you love my body. Maybe you crave the attention I bring to you. Maybe if I go for the last time then you will notice. I want to tell you how much I feel like I’m being used. You say im special snd you don’t regret ‘getting to know me’ but you genuinely never made any effort to try to get to know me. You just wanted to get into my skin. Under my clothing and into my head. You’ll always know where my door is. No matter how hard to try to disguise it or how much I change and decorate it you will always pick the lock and let yourself in. I love you and we can’t be friends nor anything else. You never took the time to notice what I like. You don’t even know my favourite colour. Or food. You don’t know my favourite animal or what I want to do with my life. You do not know me b. You never really have. Can’t you see your brain is polluted?

She has a Blue silk dress, Pink heels, “Stop it ,,,,, your hurting yourself “ Gold purse, Long hair, Pretty eyes, Skinny body… Ohhhhhhhhh

I can’t help but bitterly contort my face as she passes me by. Luminous threads of golden hug her shoulders. her spine poised as a pole. I imagine her facial features are giddy with glee at their harminous sculpture.
I scrunch my fist and tighten my jaw as i reajust myself accordingly. Her radiant scent announces her approach, and I follow her gaze in desperation. I flutter my overly pampered lashes and pucker my lips, but the scent becomes bitter. my existence doesn’t even create a spark in her mind. My coarse nails scathe my skin as I clench deeper, drawing out deep crimson that matches my chipped polish. I pull out my beaten pocket mirror and reluctantly stare myself in the eye, a tear dropping from it.

Their pillows seem more comfortable Then mine Even if it’s the same amount of feathers Same gently whirring fan Blasting temperature Given form between The fingers In your hands The same pattern where they lay Im in love with what they cover in But it’s the same duvet

So why do they seem To be so pleased to be at peace Every bone in their body Relaxed and so appeased?

Every time I see more And my vision gets clearer I cannot understand What I am seeing in the mirror

The person in the other side Isn’t filled with apprehension If only I could see what he sees From another dimension

It festers and broods within me. Gnashing in the pit of my stomach, begging for satisfaction. Knots roll and boil in my stomach, the ache buckling my knees. Because I am without you.

Instead it’s he that’s taken you. I fiend for the touch and scent of you, yearning to know it so keen as does he. My pallete blank, lacking the flavors that once nourished and inspired, now left broken and unseasoned.

Skin crawls at the loneliness of distance, heart throbs in malaise. Gone is the shiver of excitement, and left only the unmet need for proximity. A distance unbridged.

_Jackson and Scarlett were at the club while Solomon sat in the apartment reading- well with his hands. **** _Jackson stood at the bar swirling his beer and looking over at Scarlett and her Paloma cocktail. Accompanying her was a guy, a different, guy. __ They danced and danced while Jackson’s eyes got narrower and darker by the second. __ Then a loud crack, followed by a smash was heard. The club went silent, Scarlett staring at Jackson with wide, almost teary eyes. __ The one thing that scared Scarlett most, was someone dear to her wounded… __ Jackson gazed down at his hand dripping with bear and blood, with a hints of broken glass. __ He had crushed the glass bottle with his hand. __ __ Just because, she was dancing with another man…

Face becomes green It’s unseen Under the surface Comparing to others Forever and ever In Neverland It’s the devil of lust Destroying the soul to dust Eats at the heart Ripping away at the body For no reason Anxiety, fear and worry of a better world Which cannot be consoled

Just out of my reach. Beckon the words to the edge of my lips.

Interloping thoughts: Bring me there, Where little beauties Are spoken in common Tongues, pains and Sorrows are swaddled Away in palm leaf cocoons, Sunlight splits into seams, Shining pillars bathing Undergrowth, coaxing Worries away.

Bland sheaths of wheat Aren’t grayed; they show So thick with gold they Summon memories of Ancient greats from the Collective conscience.

And, at the edge of it all, Was the one hammock floating In the light wind, where I listen to folding waves Gliding over sand before The undertow ebbs Into the turqoise reflection.

She lie crumbled into a pitiful ball. The tunnel was dark, and the moment she heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed, the gray skin of her bulging eyelids peeled back to reveal a set of inhuman pupils. A sly smile spread across her horrifying face riddled with sagging skin, thin lips, and crooked teeth. When her lips spread apart, gums so inflamed and red they bled when she spoke, caused the boy to shudder and step back.

Her name was Lorath. The girls mother had named her after a small, deteriorated village on the side of a cliff. It was a place where the sun never kissed the dirt of the ground, where storms brewed. People had left the little town many years ago before she was born. Lorath always believed they knew she would come. They knew, them, with their once perfect smiles and fine features, and decided it best to abandon their home than welcome a poor creature in. She wasn’t a creature, but all who witnessed her vacant beauty referred to her as such. Creature. Monster. Devel’s spawn. She left that place years ago to find Lorath—that village she was so named after. It was fitting. It matched her with its broken-windowed buildings and wind that always carried a crippling chill. With the eerie silence that followed the ugliness of the many winding streets and crooked walls. This was where she rested. There was none to harm her. None to mock, to point and call her a beast. A vermin. It was her and the town, along with their many similarities. They were both unloved, unwanted. Shunned by society.

“Who- what are you?” the boy asked. Lorath sat up, her hunched form only allowing her upright to a certain point. The tattered fabric of her clothes reeked of death and all unpleasantries. The unfamiliar human gagged and back away.

Lorath crawled closer. Her long, boney fingers scratching against the ground beneath. She looked half dead, if not fully. Immediately her facade fell away, and an ear-splitter whale slipped from her mouth. Spittle and blood spewed from her lips as she cried. “What? What? Why must we always be a what,” she inquired to the dripping ceiling above.

“I- I-” the boy tried, but the appearance of Lorath was so overbearing he could find no words to utter. All he did was stand there. The sword in his hands shook. Fear. He forced the blade closer to her face, and she stumbled back, shielding herself with her hands. “Don’t hurt us!” she yelled.

The boy with his perfect, raven hair and blue eyes sucked in a breath at the sound of her voice. It was ugly, the sound of boots against gravel and a cool wind beating against a broken window, seeping through the openings to consume one with dread. He did not know what to think of it—this thing.

If Lorath were more pretty, she could have liked him. They were around the same age. Both young—eighteen, perhaps? Her hands slowly fell from her face as she peered at him. All his sharp features and alluring attributes. That could’ve been her. If only she were more beautiful…

“Such supple skin,” she marveled. He took another step back. “Someone such as yourself should not lack confidence! Go on—strike me down! You, rat, with all your perfections…” she made a strangled sound, as though she were crying. But she could not. She’d forgotten how to. The tears seemed to dry up and leave her alone with her hope. Hope. What a foreign, odd word.

“Who,” he corrected himself. “Who are you, then?”

She paused, her fit subsiding. “L…Lor…” she attempted to sound out her name. How long had it been since she’d last given it to someone? “Lor—ath…”

“_Lorath,” _the fellow tested it out. “This is the name of the village?”

Lorath nodded slowly. Her black, matted hair hung low, a few strands falling into her face. It was the only thing she had of herself to call “pretty.” Pretty. She stuck out a finger and pointed to him. He took a shaky breath. A reluctant step closer. “You wish to know my name?” he asked.

“If only you would give it…” she whispered. Her voice seemed to startle him. She didn’t want him to be fearful. Though she could not exactly confirm he shouldn’t be.

“Zyren,” he answered.

“Zyren…” she tested the word out, twisted her tongue and spreading her lips apart into a vicious grin. “Oh, how sublime! Utterly sublime! How w- w- wonderful!”

Zyren seemed to relax. His sword fell to his side. She watched him with rapt intensity. Every movement he made was…perfect. The twinkle in his blue eyes was…magical. But she knew it was not towards her. She knew that slight shine was not…interest, love. She knew because she’d seen so many do that same thing. It was concealed fear. Nothing else.

“Why do you p- pretend?” she asked.

The question startled him. Or perhaps that was just her. He gulped and bent down to her level. Bold. Stupid.

“Forgive me,” he spoke softly. “I- I have just never seen you before.” _Wrong. _ Lies.

What he really meant, was he had never seen something like her before. Repulsive. Shriveled. Ugly.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight a small blade tucked into his leather coat. He must’ve followed her attention, because he looked down at his chest, then found the object of her fixation. Zyren slowly pulled it out and pointed it to her.

She stammered backwards in fear. He was going to stab her!

“No, no!” he reassured her. “I only meant to offer it to you.” Foolish.

Lorath crawled closer and slowly reached out. Then, before he could have any thought of running her through, she snatched it from his hand. It was easy. He hadn’t been holding onto it tightly. Maybe he had meant to offer it to her?

“You are foolish, Zyren,” she said bluntly. She twisted the dagger in her hands. It’s jeweled handle shimmered in the dark tunnel.

Something passed his lips. A chuckle?

Her gaze shot up back to this odd boy.

“You aren’t the first to say that.” he smiled. A real smile. Genuine. Not counterfeit. Such perfect teeth. Such full lips.

If only she had been blessed with such attributes. Someone might even love her. —no. Noeone could love her. Noeone would love her. And how could she ever be loved if she never found a place in her heart to love herself? If only mother were here. She was the only one that cared. The only one who held her. Kissed her forehead.

Kyren moved closer to her. Her heart beat like a thousand drums. Never had she ever been this close to someone so beautiful. Never had they dared, or wanted to. She thought this was odd enough, but it only got more out of place when he reached out a hand. He was going to touch her.

His fingers were so close to her face. Inches away. This wasn’t right. A being such as himself shouldn’t want to touch someone like her. It was unnatural. She was unnatural. Cursed at birth with an unavoidable disease. The disease of hideousness, and in turn, the indesputable fact of always being an outcast.

Suddenly, boots stamped close to the cave from the outside. The moons light seemed to warn her. Voices sounded and became closer. He was not alone.

They called him—his name. Only it couldn’t be him. His name was Zyren. It was not Koa. Koa.

But at the distant call, Zyren turned. One does not turn when someone speaks a name unless it is their own…

Four figures appeared at the entrance of her cave, and Lorath’s breath caught in her throat. She dropped the dagger. He was a liar! He had led them here! Must have. She lunged at the boy infront of her, knocking him to the ground. Her long nails digging into the flesh of his face as he cried out. His friends came rushing toward them. Their weapons drawn. They would kill her.

She screamed and stumbled off Kyren—no, Koa’s—body and scrambled to the back of the cave. Koa’s companions threw spears and knives at her. She quickly climbed up the back of the stone wall. Lorath made a quick escape through an opening in the ceiling. She was small enough she could fit through. But she wasn’t swift enough to avoid an arrow that lodged into the back of her calf. She cried out.

That was when she began to rock herself. Her hands held tightly onto her knees as she sang. The girl was trying to calm herself down. But it was almost impossible with the sounds from below.

The sounds of the traitor’s friends prodding him with questions. Calling me a beast, and other kinds of horrid names. They filled the emptiness of the atmosphere. That was when a tear finally creeped its way down her cheek. It had been so long since she cried.

Once Lorath was certain they had left, she carefully jumped down the hole and back into the main portion of the dark tunnel. It was just her again.

Why must people be so cruel? So conniving! Why hadn’t her home warned her of this- this Zyern? They were all traitors! They were all backstabbing crooks! And she despised them even more so with their many appeals. Why had she been born so, utterly…unsightly?

She screamed and cursed the air for her appalling appearance. Beautiful people don’t get manipulated! Beautiful people find successes! Beautiful people have so many more options than just one, for love!

As Lorath sit on the cold, damp ground, everything around her was once more hopeless. Only with more emptiness to fill her longing soul. It wasn’t fair!

Her small, bloodshot pupils caught sight of a familiar sparkle. She followed it until her figure hung over it—the dagger he’d given her. Supposedly.

She would always be alone. She would always be unwanted. This was a reminder of that.

For the rest of the night, Lorath stared at the jeweled blade. The arrow still resided in the back of her leg. She ignored the pain. Ignored the blood seeping out from the corners of the wound where the arrow had did not prevented it.

This would forever be her life. No changing it. Even an inanimate object was more lovely than she could ever be.

The look in her eyes Do not disguise The feelings in her heart Lustful thoughts not a lark