Tattoos and scars.

How can I ever get over this?

Ruled by fear.  Ruled by the rule that anything can replace my sorry little existence.  Ruled by the knowledge that you, also, would leave at my littlest slip.

So remarkable how my body is not colored with tattoos, my brain is not corroded by hallucinogens or that I don’t have 5 beautiful, needy children at 25.  That has impressed some.  I didn’t refrain from experimenting with danger because I have such an amazing head over my shoulders; because I am such an extraordinary person.  This I only have you to thank for.  I wanted to.  I was dying to.

You taught me so well how to fear the consequences.  The consequences of my chatter as a cute, little first grader and the consequences of being spontaneously funny.  You most certainly did more than a good enough job at teaching me how to fear, save my thoughts for myself and staying on the safe side.

How can I remove this fear installed in my brain?  I fear not ever being able to feel indifference for you.

How could I really be all that?  You, you of all people had the duty to see through the cloud of desperation that blinded you.  You had to, but you didn’t. 

How could you really think I would be capable of taking someone’s life when, still so young and inexperienced, I looked at you with a huge question mark in my confused, wide eyes, trying not to show you my fear, only rage?  How could you not be able to see through your madness and into my eyes?  A “murderer”?  Yes, I murdered myself everyday for and because of you.

I was let down and now I am supposed to lift you up?