Louder, louder

Some people need other people to need them.

It is the only way they have to keep on living.

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You were then only face I'd ever known
I was the light from the lamp on the floor
And only as bright as you wanted me to be

I blame this on William Beckett.

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DIAF Taina. Again and again and again.

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Depression and selfishness are two ugly step-sisters plotting to seduce you, strip you bare naked, tease you, and finally arouse you to a passionate, violent dance of self-destruction.

I have memorized the first steps.

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My blue visitor is at my door again, knocking. I pretend to ignore it but my feet have a life of their own, and my own hands orchestrate the ripping of my heartstrings from my heart from my chest from my core.

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I have fantasies of dying a horrible death, the ones where you won't recognize my beautiful broken raw collection of meat and flesh and skin and veins and blood. You will only see my eyes, and when you stare at them, they'll simply stare back at you in dumb dark liquid silence.

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Because.

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I wonder why. It's been at the back of my mind constantly, lately. Were you bored? Were you lonely?

Powerful. Yet, alone.

Are we here for your own amusement?

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I want to believe you're listening.

Sometimes I remember that silence is intangible and then, and then, I lose my grip.

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Anyone who takes the above post seriously will be sent to wanna-be planet Pluto.