I can hear them when they believe I can't. I feel them, even when they think they are distant. I see them, even though my world is a darkness that can't ever be broken. Even though my vision is fifty/fifty, my world is still dark as if I were blind. It sickens me when they start to talk.
Talk about me.
I literally get sick. This buys me their pity. I don't want it. I want to know why they treat me in such a manner. They treat me as if I were fragile, or stupid. Empty and Broken. But, I am not. I am stronger than people give me credit for. I am more acceptable, and open, and deeper than they believe I am. It sickens me, when I get their pity, when all I want is their friendship.
All I want is their love.
All I want is to be Heard.
My voice, the voice I never use, is drowned out by others, it is drowned out by the crowd and white noise. I scream in my anger, and that too goes unheard. I sob, I scream, I cry, I die so slowly inside.. No one sees it. No one hears it. I am merely a shadow that no one cares about, I am there, under their feet, I am there for them to see, if they just look down! But, do they?
*scornful laugh*
no.
They pass me by everyday. I am there everyday, yet it is better just to stay home. It is better just to not try. It is better just to give up. I swallow pride and pain Just to be slapped for the effort, they slap an F on my life and call me a failure. I guess I am.
I see all these girls, all these boys, all these people, and they don't see me. They don't see my loneliness cause,  God knows, they don't care.
I am Pain
I am Tortured
I am Lonely
I am Scared
I am Angry
I am Sad
I am everything wrong and there is not an ounce of good.
I have blotted it out. I have caged my heart up, and built up walls. Every time I let someone in, they graffiti my heart, they stomp on who I am and spit on me and call me worthless.
I have yet to learn, people can not be trusted with something as fragile as me, or my heart. My only friends are the
Darkness
and the
Cold.
People, with flesh and warmth shiver in my presence, for I am merely an empty shell. I am someone who no longer exists. I am a ghost. A ghost that lives, and breaths, and walks. Though I have the appearance of life, my soul burns for love, for someone to touch me.
I am dead.
My heart beats, but no one hears the sobs it cries.
My mind is a battle zone, my body takes the toll. No one sees this.
I hear them, oh yes, I hear them, "Look at her, the unlucky sod!"
"Poor child,"
"She's so annoying."
Oh how I hear. Oh how I don't care, but Oh, how it hurts. I seek comfort, but they back away as if I were ill. I am ill, I am suffer from love deficiency. I suffer from a broken heart that can't be healed. I can't let anyone in. I can't let myself be hurt.
"What is her problem?"
You have heard my problem. You have heard my woe. You have heard my cry.
But, do you care?