• kafkaesque 2w

    End notes:
    •The narrator is a guy who is dellusioned, angry and fed up with his girl's addiction of selfharm and blame-game.
    •'Yer' = 'your'
    •the blade ~ addiction; self-harm is
    •paperball ~ false
    •cries ~ emotional pains & secrets
    •to lie prostate ~ to surrender
    •�� - is not a sign for "lovestruck". Simply a heart pierced by an arrow.

    Credits:
    Background picture - Google

    #yqbaba #mirakee #selfharm #pain #hate #sarcasm #anger #relationship
    @batman @writersnetwork @mirakeeworld @mirakee @readwriteunite

    Read More

    Selfharm

    Nevermind a bit of self harm
    at all, every now and then for sure.
    But not when the wrists are mine;
    those bold letters look too good on yer,
    ��
    What harm does a little self play
    would possibly do to us anyway.
    But not when the face is mine;
    those deep scars look really great on yer',
    ��
    I gave my love, my heart, the soul of mine,
    and all that was nothing but dust for you.
    But it's nigh impossible I leave you behind;
    this dust will bedew on the grave for you.
    ��
    Agreed, you've had a brimfull of pain in yer bowl of life,
    that you chose the blade to cut yer obsession.
    But then came my universe crashing down around me;
    the sun of my life was a paperball creation.
    ��
    A straight face & full sleeves to cover yer scars,
    I ain't the razor, the needle wherein yer cries confide.
    But then, my baby, don't expect me to understand & care,
    to empathize & lie prostate to yer lies.
    ��
    You have been ever so mischievious, my love,
    trading pleasures to seek pain all through.
    But if you ever wanted more of it,
    I would trade all my pleasures too.
    ��
    The heights of your notorious deeds
    were, dripping bottles full of red blood cells.
    But not in the name of mine, please;
    may those accusations you rather serve on yourself.
    ��
    Everytime you used to cut yourself up,
    my heart used to cringe and bleed in too.
    But not when I found you were fooling around;
    may you no longer have yer' doll of woodoo.
    ��
    You used to send me the gory pictures
    of you lying slit in the yer' own blood's pool.
    But I no longer feel a fuck anymore
    for the sorry-little-cutting-whore that's you!
    ��

    ©kafkaesque