Why Can't You See Me As Anything But A Cadaver?
doll girl lets themselves get split down the middle.
whats wrong with you.
can't you see how painful this is for me, how cruel you've treated me? how much anger i harbor in my heart towards you? does it all mean nothing? you step on my head, pushing your heel into my teeth. all you've ever done is fuck me and pull me apart. i was called today by someone from my old school. they told me all about their love life and then propositioned me for sex. telling me they wanted to come home to me and have someone to hang out with while being able to fuck them. i feel sick inside. this person ruined my life when i was in school, toyed with me, lead me on, trained me to attach to them and seek them out. all while treating me like a cadaver, a figurine, a cloth doll made of heavy stones. i was brain sick then, as i am now, but in a much more desperate, pathetic way. all i wanted was companionship, someone to comfort me and help me. and they took advantage of that to molest me, humiliate me, and hurt me until i finally disattached out of such horrible shame and humiliation. and even after that they didn't leave me alone. once i left school i had left them alone as how pathetic i was was a great deal of shame i had attached like that, so intensely, to someone so cruel and deplorable. now. now they want to fuck me? are you fucking serious? they assumed i was just ready and willing, as if i'd been patiently on my knees for their good graces this whole time. why. why. i swear to god, people do not see me as something with light and heat in it. they see me as a puppeted corpse. like im just so pathetic even after 4 years id still be begging for their approval, needy for their body on mine. like the thought of my rejection was an impossibility. they never considered the possibilities that i would say no, that i would be with someone, that i wouldn't want to, or that i would find them disgusting. they just thought id stayed permenant as i was, never changing, never growing. that id wait forever. just for them.
they don't recognize me as a person like them. they don't see me as anything but a prop. inanimate and permenant in performance. always dancing for them. and when they leave the room i am still and waiting for them. seemingly in their mushy ugly brains they think that my world revolves around them. as if i am in a permenant state. that i'd never change. that id always be so desperate to interlink with them. that im so ugly in all ways they need to humiliate and abandon me, but at the same time, its as if im magnetic, hypnotic in my misery. worthless. something easy to break, something easy to push down and something easy to bruise. thats all i am to anyone. i don't want to be ugly anymore, i want to be beautiful and my own body. i want to metamorphosize. im humiliated. i think people don't think i exist out of their perceptions of me. like as soon as i am out of their line of site i disappear. that i am so monstrous, grotesque, that i have been milked and abused to the point where any interaction with me is too much. is it that the intensity of my self turns everything around me to ash, that the heat melts the skin off your meat. am i exposing myself in my vulnerability, calescent and feverish. or is it that i am so nothing, snuffed out so violently, my presence is that of a ghost. leaving such empty sorrow in my wake. around me, there is no oxygen, no heat, no light, like facing death my body is a vessel of bleak and disturbed fog, so much so to be connected to me is to be in a vaccuum of affliction, stinging and numbness like hundreds of butterfly needles full of heroin.
i don't think anyone can see me. or if they do, i am so far beneath them, the corpse of a corpse of a bug. i don't exist without them. their mercy and charity is the biggest gift they can give in their lives. i am so worthless, so nothing, they deserve my body. deserve to split me like a cherry pit, smash my face in with a hammer until im unrecognizeable, my brains just a star of red meat and milky fat all sprayed across the sheets.
one of my ex partners said to me, as i kneeled on the floor, crying and wailing, screaming out in pure distress, my face hot and wet, that when i cried it gave him an erection. that it turned him on for me to be so mortified, so broken.
do you think if i laid down in the snow id be purified. if i set myself ablaze id be pure. do you think i could rectify my life, if only i could die. then, id never have to be ugly and pathetic again. and i could be beautiful in the dirt, and return to absolute nothing, ashen dirt under some misty cemetery, full of grief and tears, and some of those tears would wash over to me, and id be set free.