Self-Mutilation

It only happens when I'm alone. Always happens when I'm alone.

I feel this weight in my stomach... it borders on pain. Like someone's twisting their talons all willy-nilly through my viscera.

Love is not enough, the owner of the talons mocks me with a voice that sounds just like my own. My tones, my pitch, slither through my mind like they've been coated in velvet--enticing me to submit.

Shut up.

Whack.

The velvet laughs at me, a grating laugh that makes me want to crack my skull on the nearest blunt object just so it has no where to stay. It will never be enough.

You don't know that yet.

Snip.

The velvet tones take on a rougher edge. You will never be enough.

That can't be true.

Snip.

But it is... look at your life. Love isn't for people like you. You exist so that they can hold themselves up against you and say, "At least I'm not like her."

Be. Quiet.

Snip.

You're going to die alone, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Saw. Hack. Snip.

Laughter fades to nothingness, and I finally have a moment of peace as I'm wading in a puddle of my pride and joy.