The Demons

I have a darkness inside of me, but I will never be controlled. My soul is captured by the shadows of the light. I'm down to my knees, begging for the release. To release my soul from the Devil that's inside of it. He creeps in my mind and shows me what fear is. He shows me the spirits that kill each and at every moment to fulfill their need for blood. I've seen them, I've seen the souls that walk amongst us and hide themselves from the living.
Their bodies surround me in circles. Their piercing noises blow my ears, and make me cringe. There is no comprehension in what I've seen, or what I thought I saw. It's nothing that can be explained, it's something that has to be believed. As their hands reach out towards me. They want to release me from this world, and take my life right from underneath my power. I'm not one of their demons. I summon them from all the pain and the loss they've experienced.
One once asked me what death was like, even though I was living. What it's like to see the dead amongst the living, and wanting to be one of them. I simply responded with the answer of; it's similar to drowning in water, but everyone around you is floating in the water, and breathing in front of your eyes.

She's the little girl I saw sitting on the swing in the park, when nobody else could. Her hair long as her kneecaps, and black as the night sky. Her face was unknown, she wouldn't show. She swung curiously as if something had crept up on her. She's the little girl on the swing that called my name years ago, and still haunts me today. She is the one who allows me to see what others can't. She's the girl who disappeared within my eyes, and never returned. She ran from me, as if I was attempting to do something, or a threat to her nature.
He's the man who watched his lover commit suicide. A man who's wife had enough. She couldn't take it anymore. As she jumped from the reflection in his eyes, and as he watched her body smack the end of the road. His life had appeared over. He wept for his lover, as she didn't answer back, and her pulse was dead. The thoughts of never seeing her again, and him seeing her give up right in front of him, made his decide that life was over for him too. It was too hard to live on a decent life without her, it was nearly impossible. He was meaningless without her, he was worthless, and helpless with the loss of her. He embarked on the gun that he had possession of, and demanded the dead to take his life for him. As he waited for the miracle, the trigger was pulled. Through his temple, went a bullet representing loss and pain through the eyes of a lover. He died that day, but he truly died when he saw his beautiful wife's soul be taken from her by her own demons. His marks described a man in which suffered great pain and loss. Cuts on his arms, wrists, barely visible to my eyes. His face was gentle, and showed compassion and sympathy. He came to me at a time when I didn't need anyone, when I didn't want anyone. He found me. He retrieved me from my bathroom, with a razor to my hips. I took one glance up at the mirror, and saw his wonderful face waiting for the razor to hit the ground and out of my hands. I spoke, only to have him say nothing in return. He made his way over to me, caressing my wrist full of cuts, and my hips covered in blood, and created his own mural of his name in my blood. His name was Ben. He came to me, he found me, he almost stopped me, and he cared for me. He returned, only to be my protector. He watched over me, and never stood less to help me.
She appeared mysterious, and never spoke, nor did anything towards me to show any gesture, or suggest a past. Her wedding dress as long as the floor and beyond, the train ripped to pieces and blood covering the front of her breasts and her torso. The pain and torture in her eyes when she looked at you could make you think that she was a threat, or at least screaming on the inside for someone to save her. She never made a sound, not a noise. Her mouth opened, only to attempt to make a noise to come out. Nothing, nothing came out. Her silent screams made her vulnerable in the house I met her in. Her walk became a limp, and her arms were intensely stiff. Her arm reached out for me, with one hand on her mouth; trying to cover her screams, as if she didn't want to be found or saved.

These are the lives that were lost in a fight, in a war against their inner demons. The Devil is inside all of us. He creeps up in all of us every once in a while, we just don't notice. We shake it off as if it was something concerning a matter we didn't want to discuss. He is taking over the mind of all of us each and every single moment, we just don't see. Sometimes he comes out to play, and sometimes he plays his game, and sometimes; he wins.

My Angel

I'll sit and remember where I came from. I'll stand and remember where my feet once were. I'd never thought that I wouldn't care so much to a point where I would actually give up my life to someone. To put my life in his hands, and to actually live as if I live for him, and die for him when it's wanted. As I'm miles away from home, not wondering what my family will think. Whether they'll actually care, or whether they'll shake it off and wonder why, then realize that they're better off without me for a better and more meaningful reasoning. But what if I didn't care? Would it even matter? Would I even matter? My life would mean nothing once I left. Once I left and once I disappeared from the pain, misery, and the desire of death. It's alright, I'll be okay. Even so, I deserve it. I'm pathetic, I'm a nobody.
I'm just that one girl that you always see in the hallways. That goes everywhere by herself with nothing but herself and her headphones. I'm nothing. I'm the one who blasts what's in her ears just so that nobody is able to know what's on the inside. That same girl is the one who sits in the back of the classroom so that she can carry on and continue with her work without disturbance. She needs not anyone to distract her from herself or her feelings that are trapped on the inside. I'm the girl who wears jeans and a sweatshirt when it's ninety degrees outside just so that not a single soul may look upon my scars, or even remotely see them. I hide not only my emotional self, but also my physical self. My body was nothing I was ever proud of. Scars haunt me of my past and what I used to do to myself, and what I still crave to do. My fat disturbs my mind, and I cannot deal with the fact that I cannot possibly blend in with other of the girls who's bodies are beautiful, and natural. I'm the girl that's scared to walk down the hallways because of what people may or may not think of her. In fact, my body, my actions, are not quite as disturbing as the way my mind works. I look in a mirror and see a face that nobody could love, not even myself. I see a body that will never be loved by a man, or anyone for that matter. I see a useless, worthless, and selfless human being who never truly had any love for herself. A now, young woman who cannot appreciate what she's got, because what she's got gets bashed on and critiqued every day from people who know nothing about her, or what she's been through. She sees a broken heart collapsing upon herself in a mirror, imagining the glass shattering upon her and cutting through her skin; just as she had wanted all along. She pictures the glass taking her life upon her so she wouldn't have to do one thing in this world anymore; to see a little girl in the mirror anymore and see the broken, useless, and worthless young woman who puts on a mask everyday, just for the sake of her loved ones, and her own sanity.

I travel everyday in my mind. To the darkest of shadows anyone could ever see. I scatter from the light and make my way into the shadows. Where the black light lets me not see myself, where no one can. Somewhere far away, and land of known suspension. When all is lost and gone, I'll remember your love for me. Love will be the echoing in your sleep, and I'll be there. My love will be there still. Never gone, I will never leave, unless you want me to, if you're done with me or don't want me anymore.
Well at least you're still here. You're about the only one who hasn't left me yet, and left me to the darkness. The one who's helped me, and never judged me, no matter what the situation. Your touch is what brings me to my knees, and you're kiss is the one kiss that makes me realize why I've decided to stay. You're love that you have shown to me is what makes me see your beauty and your wonderfulness.
You're my angel, my guardian angel. The one who unexpectedly showed up, and showed me how much of a real human being I really am. My beauty, my intelligence, and much more. You showed me what love really is. What it means to compromise and not beat me. What it means to say I love you when you really mean it. What it means to want me every minute of every day when you grab my waist and pull me forwards. And what it means to finally release your mind to me when you kiss my passionately.
I hope one day I can finally show you how much you mean to me, whether you see it or not. I hope that one day you'll realize that the only thing that I truly want in this world is you. That the one reason I'm still here, and that I've stayed, is because you told me to, and you drove me to stay. And for most, that the only thing I wished in this world is that I hoped you could see yourself in the way that I see you, for what you really are. So you could see your love, your courage, your amazing soul, and so you could see how important you are to me, immensely.

If you remind me of one thing in this world; you remind me of the angel in the light I thought I once saw when I first decided to take my own life.

My Motivation

There is no point to living, although, there is a story to tell with every life; so why not tell it? I've gathered that we were not put on this earth to actually discover why we're here, or how it started. We were put here to live with it, to love it, and embrace it. Doesn't it feel like our time is running out? Like the time is never going to end, or finally stop.
My story has always been one to share, at least from my perspective. I grew up like a normal girl, wondering what the world was full of. Nothing to be expected of me, and certainly no reason to be suspicious of me. I was that little girl in the meadow that didn't give a care in the world about the thoughts that roamed of her in other's heads. When I was young, I grew to be normal, nothing wrong, and nothing that could ever go wrong. Once I experienced loss, and abandonment, it crushed me on the inside. Although, I didn't know it was crushing me until later on. I eventually started lying to myself, telling myself that I was okay, and that nothing was wrong. When the truth was, is that I was dying on the inside, and that I was certainly feeling alone without any acknowledgement. To my own knowledge, I didn't even know I was dying. It was all oblivious to me. Nothing had seemed right, but I was quick to assume that everything did. When life became hard, I found ways to cope with it; not very good ways, but ways. Things that nobody had ever known about me until recent. The way I use to consume large amounts of food, just so that I could regurgitate it back up. The way I'd find a razor to help me live happiness. Or the way I'd be outside riding my bike for hours at a time, wondering what had happened to me. My normal childhood, turned into a death trap; and I was okay with it.
Now, I am just a burden. Nothing to be proud of. Nothing to get excited over. I am me, but not the good me. I have changed dramatically due to my past, the stuff that no one knows anything about. Something that I chose to keep quiet for so long. In fear that it may hurt the ones I love, but now it is just my way of expressing how much I died on the inside so long ago. And to my belief, nobody actually truly cares. That is how it is with all of life. You never know or actually acquire the thought of how much somebody cares, until they're gone and you're left with nothing but yourself to deal with. It's challenging to remember a time when I didn't spend most of my night contemplating why I'm even here, or spent the night crying.
Have you ever been hurt? Betrayed? Abandoned? It kills you. Like you were a mistake. That nothing you've done or nothing you will begin to do will ever be enough for anyone. That you're worthless and not living up to one's expectations. I sit every awakening moment wondering if I'm good enough. Whether I'm actually someone's worry, someone's love, or someone's motivation. Or whether I'm just someone's hatred, someone's burden, or someone's mistake.
My quiet has been known for quite sometime now. I've always been the girl in the back, not caring about anything else in the world. I've always been the one who cannot go with crowds, the one that stays home. The one that's picked last, the one that remains silent. I'm nobody's first choice, and I've dealt with that; I think. But the real truth of the matter is that there is nobody in this world that will ever truly love you in the ways that you can love yourself. But for further excuse, I don't even love myself. I choose not to, I don't naturally. It's something I just never learned to do, something that never crept into my mind. I've always put the ones I love the most, and their needs before mine. I admire them. I let them know how beautiful, wonderful, amazing, and special they are because I don't want them feeling the same way I do; which is none of those aspects.

You know, I've asked myself numerous times before, what it's like to be happy. If I had asked myself that same question a while ago, then I wouldn't have given you an answer, because I'd say I haven't experienced that real feeling yet. Although, now I have. When I am with him, it's like nothing else. Like nothing else matters. As if the world has collapsed or disappeared within me, and that when he holds me, there is nothing else in the world that gives me much more joy. There's something about the light I see in him, the light that usual people don't really give sight to, that brings me hope. There's something about the way he smiles, the way he jokes around with me, the way he kisses me, that makes me feel like there's something actually worth living for. Something worth remembering, something worth the time to look back on in my later years, when I am still with him.
I see him, and love him. I notice him, and smile. He makes me feel worth the time, beautiful, and wonderful from the inside to the outside. He holds me as if everything in life has already been achieved, and he has nothing more to do. He caresses me like there is more to life than me, that everything he loves, and everything he wants, is in his arms. Perhaps even the way he looks at me. The way he stares into me with those hazel eyes, and glances at the beauty he sees in me. Something about the way he moves, the way he speaks, just everything. It amazes me how much a person can really achieve to be so perfect. In another way, he makes me feel safe. Like nothing will ever hurt me or come close to the pain I've felt before. He tells me it'll be okay. And no matter how small a problem, or how minuscule a situation may be; if it bothers me, I'll speak and he'll listen. It brings me absolute happiness to know that there is someone out there that truly loves me, and will always be there for me, through thick and thin. It's too early to say I love him, but it's true, isn't it? I do love him. He says he loves me too. No matter if it's actually the truth, or the right timing, who cares? I will continue to love someone, for that is what brings me complete happiness in the world. I'll keep him forever, because that's what he deserves. Someone who will enjoy his presence, and someone who will non-stop be his one and only love. I'll keep him, hold onto him, for he is my one motivation.