Misanthropy is Love

I would never wish this was fiction. It’s so perfect that I’m scared it isn’t real. But it is, we are, He’s still here.

Last night, I lost control. I stormed in and held my face inches from his, and I stared him hard in the eyes. He asked why I was so close, and I told him if I moved I would punch him, and I didn’t want to do that. “Hit me and see what happens,” was the response I was given, and I laughed at his threat, then I slapped him across the face so hard it was a surprise his parents didn’t wake up at the noise. Then I waited for him to hit me back. But instead, he sucked his teeth and said he was done, and he clenched his jaw and crossed his arms before staring at me with a look of utter disgust in his eyes. I told him I knew he wasn’t done; just as I wasn’t, just as we always said we were done but never were. I told him to hit me back. He kept asking why. I kept telling him to do it.

I said that I know him, I know that face; he wanted me to fuck off and never come back. He laughed and said that actually, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch me or kiss me. I told him to kiss me then punch me in the face. He grabbed me, kissed me so hard that my lip bled from the pressure of his, and pulled on my hair so much so that the pain became pleasure.

“Go to bed,” he whispered, pulling away.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know right now if I want to kill you or fuck you. And if I do fuck you, I’ll completely destroy you.”

The veins on his neck were pulsating. Apparently, I was a sick, twisted individual, and he held my face in his hands to mutter, “I can’t so this. Our relationship is built on hatred for one another.”

“Yet it works.”

“When am I ever going to be rid of you?”

I smiled, kissed his nose, and whispered, “One day, you will, trust me.”

My back is covered in scratch marks, there are bruises around my neck, my facial cheeks are still stinging red, and clumps of my hair are lying on the bed.

I hate him; mind, body, and soul. And I fucking love it.

I’m going to destroy you, and in the most impressionable way possible.

He wished to be immortal, so I wrote a poem he inspired me to create.

I picked at the skin;

And my fingers bled
While my tips, they ached
Thoughts flooded my head

I watched as an insect crawled the floor,
And I checked my phone to see if you said more.

I told my
Mother
A lie, I said I was with a friend
But really I was fucking a boy,
I honestly can’t pretend.

Though if I were truthful,
I cannot promise a thing,
I’d tell you I’m lonely,
I’d tell you I’m sad,
I’d tell you I have a fear I’m going
Slightly mad.

When you’re sad, you don’t cut.

When you’re sad, you don’t cut.

When you’re sad, you don’t cut.

The world is full of prejudice,
And I am indeed a judge.
Though I will waste my time, waste my mind,
What is time when I am young?
Why bother with the worry of fortune,
Why cry with the fear of regret,
When I am a fresh body,
When I have not lived yet.
I will open up my soul,
and I will let you feel the core,
I will ask permission from no man,
A revolution in my mind.
What is liberty to a mad woman,
What is pain to a fiend?
I am the insect squashed,
the smoke in the sky,
The nightmare embedded in a dream.

I am bound in chains
Chains that are only mine.
Forgive me, Lord, I swear I try,
though only you know the truth.
I scheme, I manipulate man,
I waste the days of my youth.

But why do I take such anguish,
Bother with such pain?
I cannot make a blind man see,
Or a deaf man hear again.
Should I believe I am free,
I will repent for all my earthly sins;
The birds will sing until I am,
Though I will never be.

Quean

I press my hands to your chest and I ponder how your heart feels about me.

I think about how much I make its speed fluctuate.

I imagine your brother and I together.

I press my hand on your thigh and I feel your body start to quiver.

How does it feel to be scared of a reflection?

How lovely it would be to kiss your older sister,

How lovely for me to say i kissed her,

Wait for a moment, stop, hold your breath.

If you were given the option to change your past, would you?

No, no, don’t cut yourself.

You don’t need to eat that.

Please, don’t tell him how you really feel.

…I touch your arm.

You hold my hand.

We know this is forbidden and yet we do not abstain.

Imagine yourself with me,

Who deserves happiness and who should have the sorrow?

I kiss you,

You kiss me back,

A flower dies.

I am a Disease.

People say it, but they do not know what it is to be so.

To find a friend, to manipulate them, to bring them down.

To find a man, to manipulate him, to break him.

To use a family, to manipulate them, to cause dispute.

Demise.

What will cause mine?

My own self.

I am a disease, and I will smash your heart.