Intrusive Thoughts

The bottle and I have become very close friends. But lately I’ve wanted it to help me more and more. Smash it over my head and use the shards to carve out my heart. Just so that I don’t have to feel these emotions any longer.

My patience level lowers the more I talk to people. The man with cigarette and coffee breath, texting his mistress and ignoring his sugar high children. His wife, lipstick stains on her teeth and crows feet embedded under her eyes…. Telling me to smile. My lips twitch while my eyes scream FUCK YOU… I’ve been itching to slap someone and she might be my first victim. But what will that prove? A bunch of judging eyes and whispers about my incompetence. You all DISGUST me but I’ll play your little games so my conscience can go easy on me for once.

To the ones who capture my eye because my heart falls so fast and easy. You suck. I hate you and hate how your claws dig in to me so deeply. Playing with an open wound will only make it bleed more. That is what I have become. A picked scab… intended to help but only pulled away for your enjoyment. So what is it that I have to say to you? You’re a CUNT. But I can never bring myself to say it because the woman I am is too kind and envies the bitch she really wants to be.