Wounded by the World

I spend so much of my time trying to fade away that I’m forgetting how to exist. I don’t know how to be happy anymore or if happiness real. I’m melting in a furnace of unbearable pain. But no one will ever see it because it’s hidden behind the smile that I’ve plastered on my face. My heart is wounded, my spirit is broken but I pretend to at least be satisfied with what life has to offer because there’s no point in showing my pain.

My pain that is never ending, all encompassing, forever tugging at the little life left in me. My pain has gone beyond the physical, it has surpassed the psychological and the spiritual. My pain is being called a whore by a guy because I refused to tell him my name. My pain is being told that I’m not good enough because I don’t look a certain way. My pain is seeing my rapist laugh at family gatherings while I cower my head in shame. My pain is falling in love with the idea of love with a new lover hoping that they will love and fix the ever so broken thing that I’ve become and replace all I’ve lost. Existing is my pain. I wish I could close my eyes and vanish into an infinite darkness. It’s no longer enough. It’s no longer enough for me to self harm. It’s no longer enough for me to drink, smoke and fuck my way into an illusion of liberation. It’s no longer enough to wish for death. What I need? What I need is to vanish, to never have and no longer exist. I wish everyone could forget who I was. That my 20 years on earth which have been wrapped, coated, drenched and embellished with pain could all be wiped away. I spend so much of my time trying to fade away that I’m forgetting how to exist because my pain tells me that I’m not worth a space on this earth. I’m not worth more pain.

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