I’ve been dislocated so many times. Mentally and physically and it hurts beyond what you can fucking believe. When I was born, I learned to shut up or get busted in my goddamn face. My sanity has been lost so many times and I’ve wished I could die so many more. My life has been destroyed to unrecognizable shards over and over and there is no guarantee it won’t happen again.
All I have to show for it is loneliness. Isolation is my comfort and reward. I see their pictures all the same. Happy families. They got that fucking snatch when that’s all that mattered and now they have the love secure if they want that too. The snatch comes from love, affection, respect, fear, pity and very few had those for me. I am no better and no worse than anybody else so my soul is a fucking evil core.
Whatever mask I wear or how my life looks from the outside it just doesn’t fucking matter. You cry out and you cry out and nobody helps or comes near. And you cry out and cry out alone. You help everyone or you put out the hate and it doesn’t matter. Another night alone. Another life. You put your thoughts on the line and your heart and your goddamn pain and art and it goes unnoticed so you keep drinking and dying inside and you don’t know why. How am I different than everyone else? I didn’t think I was a bad person but I must be to deserve this waking death beating me down telling me I’m worthless and not worth the love I have.
I don’t want the family life, but I wish I had the choice. The family is just proof that someone loved you enough or hated you too. I fought so long for someone to care for but I’m giving up because I accept I am a prick and that’s not in my book. It’s always been that way for me and that’s how it will always be. That’s why I’m not afraid to dive deep and fly high and let it all go. Nothing to lose except a full belly and bed, but without companionship, what’s the point. A bullet to the mind. A bullet to the soul.