How do you feel?
Why do you even want to know? Do you expect me to say that I’m fine? Or do you want me to share with you all my frustrations and all the holes left by needles and razors that ran through my skin. I am a legend in which only the ones who kill themselves are the ones who live forever, regardless of their reasons or intentions.
Now you see me. Now you don’t.
I can see the pain burning into your eyes when you look at me and see the dark circles under my eyes, my bleeding dry lips and the thing that hurts the most, the fact that I’m not happy. But how can I be? You only see me on your way to your home. You kiss me but we never talk. And I get that. I’m not funny, nor kind, not to mention I despite your jokes. Or I just lie to myself about all these things. But one thing I know for sure, that I am lovely. Cause if I wasn’t how could you still hold me? For what use? To keep me warm. I’d rather be dead than warm from someone’s mercy.
So I feel sad, cold, empty, fragile, unwanted, desperate, helpless and needy…but I blame it on the winter