“Cement Insides”
By Rubsta

My mind does this thing where it hurts, and when my mind hurts my soul hurts and the only cure for a soul like that is nothingness. I sit in solitude and clear my head of all of these meaningless details and try to calm myself off the ledge of insanity I find myself dangerous perched upon. In doing so I discover a few things: like the fact that your eyes often turn more green when you’re wearing blue, that the feeling of quilts instantly makes me feel less like leaping off into the bleak nothingness of completely silencing my body forever and that all I really want is for my blood to run blue and to be able to not feel like this anymore. quick fix? marijuana.

I am always so confused by what others must think of me. I think I’m a nice enough person but apparently my face is always sinister and crooked and I never say the right things. I wish that when he gave me the cold shoulder and chooses not to even look at me that I could just grab his face and scream “I act this way, I hide and lie and deceive you this way because I love you and you wouldn’t give a single fuck if I drown, burned, slit my wrists or got hit by a train…but I care when I accidentally play-punch you too hard because behind it really isn’t anger…just love and lust.”
This is what I’d say if I had the minerals to finally confess what a mess I am inside over someone who treats me like I’m nothing.

Sorry.

Ever had one of those nights where you wish you could rewind and do it over and change a lot of things? Last night I got too drunk, got too sensitive and got too crazy. I have no right to be upset he tells me…little does he know how much I wish I were a girl he wanted; but I’m not. I’m just the chubby friend who does everything for these people and I can’t help but feel used. Are these people my friends or am I just a convenient asset?

I often wonder why it is I long for you. You aren’t anything that special. You’re an asshole and you lie and you keep dark hidden secrets that I cannot see. You stick by my side but what are your alterior motives? Do you even have any? You think I’m crazy, and I am. But when I’m not with you I don’t feel secure, I don’t feel exactly myself; I go through life in a haze of suppressed emotion and I keep my inner thoughts to myself. It is only when we are together than I am honest with myself but even then I’m not. I keep these feelings hidden deep inside, like a tequila worm sittin’ pretty at the bottom of a bottle, just waiting to be ingested and fuck up my world sending it into a blurred cyclone of colors and sensations until it all goes black. I want that blackness. I want that unconsciousness. Maybe somewhere in the blackness I will find that missing puzzle piece of myself and I’ll suddenly be able to be honest. I’ll be able to handle the looming fact of that matter, which is that you don’t love me, that you never will. I’ll finally grasp in my cranium the blatant truth that I am nothing to be valued or prized by any means, that I’m just a girl who fucked herself over by listening to the demons in my heart telling me to keep hoping when I should have never even started this sick twisted race. Maybe I’ll finally yell to your face that I’ll never look like a Barbie and I never want to. Or maybe in this blackness I will finally get to fuck you. Maybe I’ll finally be liberated from the great weight bestowed on my vagina that somehow makes me horny and easily turned on by the slightest touch or glance. In this blackness I could be liberated. But I’m scared. I don’t want to fall into this blackness and loose my composure, loose the side of myself which keeps all of these things from you. If they were to get out…things would never be the same and I would hate myself for it.