The truth is that I was never meant to be the black thing. Covered in praise and adorned with dear hopes from the first day I spoke, I was never meant to be the black thing. Called gifted and bright and told that stars ruled my eyes I was never truly meant to be fallen. Rather meant to shine deep and cause a blinding light to flourish, I found that all hope placed in me took too much to be nourished.
Oh once I could have been so dazzling for you. I could have been captivating and entrancing, if never attractive. Ugly skin is a sick wrapping for what I was told dwealt inside. I vaguely remember the day when I decided it was no mistake to throw it away and be what I looked like. I had to be true to what really matters and in this world I call home, that is always the package. A package which never tires for a thirst for scars. A package which never lets my eyes find peace with its image. How many times can a face be sliced until it decides to slide off of the bone? I can honestly say, at least more than a hundred. I want to peel off a face no one can love and plaster a new one of mud and blood in its wake.
People obsess, people covet. What is that like? To be coveted? I walk with my straining mind in the wake of those who are treasured and sing sweet refrains to those they have scarred. I am allowed to bring smiles to their victims. I am allowed to offer just enough strength to be called sweet and forgotten. I am allowed a heart so that I might feel it break every so often. Much better to feed the needs of my mind. my beautiful mind. A mind which refuses to die, no matter what I throw at it. A mind thriving on how it can torture me. A mind I have learned to shape. To mold. To colour. A mind I have made a black thing. I like the way I have tarnished every hope which has ever been placed in me. I love this. I LOVE THIS!!!!!!! Come on, my head is so damn hungry. Please hurt me a little more so I can send you to someone who can hurt you. Really, no need to thank me. That’s what I live for. That’s what I am. That’s why God made black things. You’ll never know how it hurts before I do. You’ll never need me to find something painful. You’ll just share a little of the shit before you move on to deader places. But, at least, much sweeter faces.