Dragon_Droppings
March 28th, 2012, 05:46 PM
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The darkness cascades over me, as the shadows take over me once more. The lively and good spirited girl, now replaced by a freakishly large hole of a heart. The beautiful words that used to dance across my lips, now are dull with an edge of sadness and remorse. I once was, but never to be again, a lovable person. Now I sit in the shades of grey and black, hiding myself from the world surrounding me. I wasn't always like this. I used to have a hint of sanity still flaming strongly inside of me. The flame was destroyed by a child as young as my heart was innocent. The flame was destroyed by words so strong, yet so powerful. Such simple actions cause such powerful affects. The flick of a hand can mean the allowance to end someone's life, or to send someone to a lifetime of prison. The simple words 'I love you' can commit someone forever. The words of doubt, and discouragement, can cause someone to go down the wrong path in life. I am one of the millions of bullied children.
My name is Sunshine. My name makes me seem flawless, carefree. But I am a soul in bad need of stitching. I am a hollow shell. I am nothing more than a symbol that enables bullies to prod further. This isn't being written because I want people to feel sorry for me, or because I want to show people the hurtfulness of bullying. This is being written because I need to get the load off my shoulders. Because one person can't carry so much on her back. Not even me.
When I was an adolescent as innocent as it was possible to get, I used to pick dandelions in the meadow for Rose. She was my best friend. She was the best friend a girl could ask for. But she wasn't. I started growing up and Rose started hitting me. Putting me down. It made her feel superior. It made her feel dominant. It made me feel like nothing. It made me feel like a piece of dust getting in everyone's faces. This is why I am the girl with the cuts running from her wrist to her shoulders. The girl who burns herself. The girl who burns herself for the pleasure of knowing she has control over at least one thing in her life.
I stare at the scorches that remind me that my past is real. The scars that remind me of what I have gone through. The scratches that remind me that I am worthless, unloveable. I bring my burnt fingers to my neck, tracing the scar from the knife. The knife that tried to end my life. The knife that almost ended my misery once and for all. The knife that declared my loss of love and reason. The scar is still fresh. As fresh as the memories of Rose. As fresh as the memories of Rose pushing me, hitting me, banging my head against the wall.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, not daring to cry at the reminder. The shards of what is left from my painful experiences are still sharp as ever, but now put away deep inside the folds of my heart. I will never trust again. Never love again. My heart is now just another one of the toys on the shelf. Dusty, forgotten, unable to love, and unable to be loved.
I pull myself up into a sitting position coaxing my sore limbs to move properly. I have been so absorbed in my thoughts, that all of my muscles are stiff, and my fists have been clenched so hard, that my fingernails have cut into my skin, making myself bleed. The palm of my hand is slowly gathering droplets of blood in the creases of my skin, the red substance contrasting against my almost purple skin. Still too weak to stand up, I pull my knees close to me. I can feel my ribs poking out like wings. My skin is just a thin microfiber. And even the skin that is unblemished is a light shade of purple. I look around me. There is an abandoned ferris wheel. A stray cat wandering in the far distance. An old ticket booth. A sign for an amusement park. I pick up a rusty knife that I find lying astray in a pile of rubble, and slice my neck with the blade multiple times, until I start to feel the life rushing out of me. I'm going to be alone forever, and I like it like that.
THE END
The darkness cascades over me, as the shadows take over me once more. The lively and good spirited girl, now replaced by a freakishly large hole of a heart. The beautiful words that used to dance across my lips, now are dull with an edge of sadness and remorse. I once was, but never to be again, a lovable person. Now I sit in the shades of grey and black, hiding myself from the world surrounding me. I wasn't always like this. I used to have a hint of sanity still flaming strongly inside of me. The flame was destroyed by a child as young as my heart was innocent. The flame was destroyed by words so strong, yet so powerful. Such simple actions cause such powerful affects. The flick of a hand can mean the allowance to end someone's life, or to send someone to a lifetime of prison. The simple words 'I love you' can commit someone forever. The words of doubt, and discouragement, can cause someone to go down the wrong path in life. I am one of the millions of bullied children.
My name is Sunshine. My name makes me seem flawless, carefree. But I am a soul in bad need of stitching. I am a hollow shell. I am nothing more than a symbol that enables bullies to prod further. This isn't being written because I want people to feel sorry for me, or because I want to show people the hurtfulness of bullying. This is being written because I need to get the load off my shoulders. Because one person can't carry so much on her back. Not even me.
When I was an adolescent as innocent as it was possible to get, I used to pick dandelions in the meadow for Rose. She was my best friend. She was the best friend a girl could ask for. But she wasn't. I started growing up and Rose started hitting me. Putting me down. It made her feel superior. It made her feel dominant. It made me feel like nothing. It made me feel like a piece of dust getting in everyone's faces. This is why I am the girl with the cuts running from her wrist to her shoulders. The girl who burns herself. The girl who burns herself for the pleasure of knowing she has control over at least one thing in her life.
I stare at the scorches that remind me that my past is real. The scars that remind me of what I have gone through. The scratches that remind me that I am worthless, unloveable. I bring my burnt fingers to my neck, tracing the scar from the knife. The knife that tried to end my life. The knife that almost ended my misery once and for all. The knife that declared my loss of love and reason. The scar is still fresh. As fresh as the memories of Rose. As fresh as the memories of Rose pushing me, hitting me, banging my head against the wall.
I shake myself out of my thoughts, not daring to cry at the reminder. The shards of what is left from my painful experiences are still sharp as ever, but now put away deep inside the folds of my heart. I will never trust again. Never love again. My heart is now just another one of the toys on the shelf. Dusty, forgotten, unable to love, and unable to be loved.
I pull myself up into a sitting position coaxing my sore limbs to move properly. I have been so absorbed in my thoughts, that all of my muscles are stiff, and my fists have been clenched so hard, that my fingernails have cut into my skin, making myself bleed. The palm of my hand is slowly gathering droplets of blood in the creases of my skin, the red substance contrasting against my almost purple skin. Still too weak to stand up, I pull my knees close to me. I can feel my ribs poking out like wings. My skin is just a thin microfiber. And even the skin that is unblemished is a light shade of purple. I look around me. There is an abandoned ferris wheel. A stray cat wandering in the far distance. An old ticket booth. A sign for an amusement park. I pick up a rusty knife that I find lying astray in a pile of rubble, and slice my neck with the blade multiple times, until I start to feel the life rushing out of me. I'm going to be alone forever, and I like it like that.
THE END