Sad Songs

I should not be listening to sad songs, I think, as I play the Twenty-One Pilots' cover of My Chemical Romance's "Cancer" on loop.

Turn away, if you could get me a drink of water, cause my lips are chapped and faded.

I should turn this off before the lyrics start getting under my skin. I stare blankly at my computer screen, quietly contemplating whether slitting my wrists would mean I could get a few months off work, maybe the finance department will finally process my commission.



And bury me in all my favorite colors

You're being over dramatic, again. overthinking, again, pull yourself together.  I shake my head and try not rub the eye shadow from my eyes.

I will not kiss you

Stop this song, it's getting to your head. But it's too late. That line has sent me spiraling off the edge into the darkness I've tried beating into a corner for the past three months. Not for the first time, getting hit by a speeding bus seems more like salvation than tragedy.

Now turn away

'Cause I'm awful just to see

You're being selfish again, wake up. But my mind has gone into a coma and it's happy there, dead or dying, I can't tell the difference anymore. There's worse things in the world, damn it. Just because your world is crumbling does not mean the one outside will stop spinning. Get up.

But counting down the days to go

It just ain't living

I fight the tears, tell myself I'm made of marble, again. I am carved from diamond and will not break. Force myself to smile, again, tell myself not to think of blood and death, and...

Lips are chapped and faded 

Stupid sad song, I tell myself. But I know it isn't the song. I just needed an excuse to succumb to the darkness again. Just for today, tomorrow will be different. I'll be better.

I will not kiss you

Demons

There are demons that I have to fight on my own. Most days, they never stop whispering malicious things: like how I will never be good enough for the world because I will never be good enough for my mother; like no matter how hard I try, I will always fail.

They tell me, every day, that I am unlovable, that I am not worth anything, that my darkness is too much, too consuming, to handle.
Most days, I tune them out.
I couldn't do that today.
I can't... I can't do it anymore. I am at the point of my life where I am ready and willing to succumb to the blade of the guillotine that has been set above me since I turned 8. I cannot keep trying and trying and just see the same look of disdain and disappointment in my parents' eyes. I can't keep crying myself to sleep at night. I am too tired to fight.
I can't be vulnerable and strong at the same time. I can't let anyone in without them being scared of whatever monster has taken root within my soul. I cannot shut the demons up, not anymore.
The rain clouds are coming back, and I have no more stories to tell, no more faith, trust, pixie dust. There's no more naivete to spare. It's all just ashes and bones, and cracked skulls and spilled blood... And me, crying on the bathroom floor at two in the morning, trying to swallow the spine-racking sobs so that no one in my family wakes up.