I should have known you were a demon. Your demeanor was too good to be true, you were concealing your thoughts and indecency—I am as naive as could be, chronically gaslighting myself into believing I am above such nonsense.
You abused my trust and love, the latter of which you must have been oblivious of. That is fine, I did not communicate that nor even concretely believe it to be a sincere sensation. This event with you cemented that it was but a dream that you happened to be the star of. I endured absolute nonsense within reality, a psychic attack I endured more gracefully than previously.
I think you will pay for what you have done, whether it is because a collective put their foot down or karma returning to you violently. I don’t think someone such as yourself could get away with such sin for a long period of time, it is not an ideal situation to be in. You should be picky-choosy regarding which proclivities one participates in. There are better crimes to partake in than taking advantage of a vulnerable human being.
Whether I am running on the collection of knowledge I have obtained in this lifetime or sincere emotion, is a conundrum that is presently being processed. As a human, must it be both? I know I am more than a demon, but what am I to do with this skill set that I possess? There is a natural inclination in others to repress me, what must this short straw mean for me?
I fall in love with demons because I see the humanity lurking inside them. It’s a part that not enough are in touch with these days in a social media consumed society. My patience runs thin, and I navigate situations gracefully (at least in my modest perception). Utilizing prophetic nature for efficiency, are there not larger applications for such an ability?
My moral convictions are what hold me back, a strong sense of self and stance on the world prevents me from taking advantage of the weak systems that are in place. This strong desire to fight my way through life till I am caught takes from my potential, which I ignorantly view to be a small price to pay for a life that consistently has peace of mind.
The vibes are in my bones, and they’re rotting me, the necrosis is a potently impairing state of consciousness. My trust could turn love into dust, this game is a fast nothingness to the ghouls of us. I know what people are capable of, I roll the dice as if they are coated in single digits. The beating makes me stronger, is what I tell myself, as the skin on my muscles begs to escape while they fill with hives after the mistakes I have made. His sweat is poison to the largest organ on my body, the food I’m given has put me into a state of perpetual cortisol excretion—my substance abuse is turning my days into nothing but dreams. My heart beats outside my body, I can’t sleep until I can make sense of my day and what is ahead.
Cursed. I kept my lips sealed of the pains I endured, that cannot be kept locked away without manifesting in some visible way. My hair would hurt—what is a migraine aura? Why am I getting beaten for not understanding my pain? Are tears not worth understanding without the buckle of a belt? I could not eat. My indulgences left me with an esophagus deteriorating from the acid come-up. In bed all day, my muscles beg for blood to rush into them again. Days spent inside took away from the future I aspired to—a writer, a doctor? What a fool! Sit down and be pretty, say what you’re told to say. You cannot even tough out a headache, what future was there for a naturally beautiful girl like me? Anything I want, if I’m willing to give myself away to the right person.
What do I want? I know exactly what I want, but I have no idea how I’m going to get it. I’m surviving, trying to bank on the American dream that so many are seeking. I am aware it is exploitative on both sides, but I’m not sure if it is necessarily fair—what I am willing to offer is in demand, and it yields the most profit for the least effort. Won’t I have to pay for these sins I have chosen to partake in? Luxury does not last forever, nor is it something I particularly prioritize—I am coping in an unhealthy manner.
As I take another hit off the salt nicotine vape, I allow my mind to take from my livelihood.
Overall, I am unhappy. I do not particularly like or trust many of the family I have chosen to take on as part of my “adult life”. Hiding away is my motive, I will do what it takes to obtain this. I was not built for city life, I know what they think when they look me all around and right into my eyes. I hear their whispers as if they’re on the back of my neck. They know what I am just as I know what they are, does this make me lesser? Being this close to the bottom is certainly seen, in the kindness I am given by even those barely clinging to their souls—how I am alive, is a gift from below. I know when my life is leaning on the ledge, there is a reason I prevail even as hope hides away from me.
It might have been a dream while awake but the metaphor stands true to my lived reality. I have given my heart to the world to be feasted upon, it will take time to take on the consequences of such an action. I accepted the difficulties it might have and has brought upon me. This is the hardest quest I will have ever embarked upon, I think a written-in-stone path to life is what will heal the wounds that seem to reopen in the unlikeliest of places.
There are those that believe in me, even having one is enough to fuel the grit I have eagerly trained for. I played the game online, got to the top, making connections, some even saved my life—and oh, it is far more fun to play in real life. Regularly ready to lose my mind, but the fast pace nature of our material world makes it far easier to bear. This is what I starved for, what I was missing.
No, I cannot live like this forever. It is kindle to this flame that I’ve managed to keep alive after the bruises and restraints. To be alone with myself is a gift, after spending years learning who was lurking beneath the abused girl.
I don’t need praise. I need to study and prod my body.