miserableburner
Angel brought down
- Mar 11, 2023
- 11
God doesn't even give me the courtesy of acknowledging I've had a bad day, perhaps it is selfish of me unless my feelings are on display. I am hardly likable and barely formidable anymore, the clay that molds me is no longer recognizable and I don't allow myself to feel things unless they are attractive enough they are presentable and I feel dominant or they can be seen as artistic, but that's not who I am, it's just how I cry for help the easiest and people answer because it is pitiful and attractive looking. When I do not try and be presentable, romanticizable, or give my feelings an aesthetic as you would a painting, I am seen as just another passerby; a starving artist in a world of those just like me, but with more talent. The guash smears down the canvas in the rain and I am left hungry with nothing to show for it. Being self aware here, this is poetic enough, partially on purpose, that I can be proud of my feelings and I may just show this off. Not in hopes people will relate, as while that is always nice I both want this to just be about myself and it is a bit edgy, but as I want this to be a diary of sorts. Perhaps I am too attention seeking but I run from what I feel like a refugee in hopes I will find someone more hospitable who will take me in and nurse me as if I am some child, hold pity on me and acknowledge me as I've hoped for all this time. I hunger for it like a vampire feeding off of energy and I look back at any time someone showed me pity over and over again until I can no longer feel anything from it and I move onto something else. But being a refugee in a world nothing more than crossfire, everyone is in similar condition to I and it means I may just have to fend for myself, because my ailments are stubborn and nobody likes a parasite that is not receptive to treatment, I drag everyone down with me unless they stop their tread just to care for me and that is not sustainable. Perhaps if we all took turns on the burden, passing me around maybe I'd heal better then and I could pick someone I especially liked out of the emts. Perhaps they'll leave me in a puddle to succumb to the open sores covering me as to not contaminate anyone else with my filth. A stick in the mud to be covered and forgotten, I am. I am very lonely.
