depression · Poetry · prose · quote · sadness · Uncategorized · Writing

I want to hurt somebody like I’ve been hurt, far too many times to count. I want to make someone feel invisible, like I have so many times. I want to forget people’s names so they know what it is like to not be worthy enough to be remembered.

I want to dig deep into someone’s chest and wrench their hearts out. To pull and gnaw at their skins, to cause blisters and wounds like the ones that cover my body. I want to make someone feel so cold and miserable that they’d think it would be impossible to feel warm again. I want to make someone feel so bad about themselves that they’d want to rip out of their skins. I want to yank out their hair and tear apart their nails; I want to cause them so much pain they’d begin to wonder why they were alive in the first place.

Then I’d ask. I’d ask all the questions.

Does it feel good?
Did you like that?
Want me to do that again?

I’d smile to myself when they will answer ‘no’ to all of them. I’d laugh and cackle. I’d laugh like I have no heart. I’d laugh like it doesn’t affect me, like it doesn’t affect them;  like they laugh at me when I say ‘no’.

But I’d do neither of these things because I know all too well how it feels.

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