I don't like you.

No one fucking likes you, don't you understand?

People only like themselves, and that's all there is to it. We're a pointless existence, waiting to evaporate into the summer air. You just wish it wasn't true. You wish to get kissed and fucked and graduated and the best job and it's all pointless. Useless. You are pointless.

I hate your face, I hate your eyes, I hate the air you breathe. 

I wish you'd kill yourself and dissolve. Dissolve for me.

I want to go into the wild, to go inside my own head, to go with the select few. And even they are not. Even I am not. I will sit and I will pretend that I am, but I am not. I will fill my head with your voice and your sweet touch and your mindset, but I am not.

You're high.

You're drunk.

You're stupid.

You're too afraid to make the correct decision first. To map out the language before the storm. 

I don't want to have to deal with you, because I've already dealt with you. In my head. You are my biggest disappointment, and the next will be just as bad. I'll sit and I'll dream and I'll make those same silly mistakes but it'll all be worthless. I am not.

I don't want your invitation. Don't fucking speak it. Forget it. Forget each simple fact, but I won't. I won't forget. I am not.

I'm over this. I've given up. That bullshit story everyone makes up and wishes for and prays for doesn't exist. It is, in fact, bullshit.

Let's just say I am over this.

I am not.

I sat down and placed my head down and kept my eyes open and saw nothing, and I thought Wow, this is what it's like. This isn't too bad. This is what everyone is afraid of? Total black? Nothing? Bring it on. Let me conquer your fear. I am not afraid. I am not.

Show me the way, Alice. Show me with your pretty blonde hair. Show me the void. Let me fall with you-- let me fall alone-- into nothingness. Remember: Keep your hands and feet inside the moving vehicle at all times. You wouldn't like to get hurt on your journey, right? Of course not. The seat belts are all fastened. Have a good trip. And he returns to the chair and waits for the next forty people to move ahead in line.

Watch me be disappointed. Watch me "try it again," only to be given the backhand slap of the mind's cruelest practical joke. But hey. I can take a joke. I'm laughing. I'm existing. I'm happy. I'm still laughing after the second time! And the third. And the forth. And now this is getting old, so I scream FUCK YOU, but you can't hear me because we're in a crowd and you're having fun and I'm suffocating. I'm suffocating so hard. Wait. Please. Please come back. With you here, at least I could breathe. At least when they saw me in pain people took a step back and let me breathe, but I can't now, please come back. Please. 

They revive me later. I'm bruised and hurt and no one cares but they're in a crowd so they like to pretend that they care-- that gains them invisible points. Hey, single man #5 thinks to himself, if I get on my knees and try to help this guy up maybe that girl #42 will come back to my place after the ambulance arrives and takes this guy away. Maybe I'll score, he thinks to himself. That's all he cares about. He doesn't care about me. Fuck him. I'm still bruised and hurt, but I get better. And then I'm happy and boring and no one cares. Maybe I should hurt myself again, I think. Maybe I should help someone else, I think. Either way I win. It's all about the I. I, I, I. If I don't win, it all doesn't matter.

God, fuck you, I say to the mirror. I'm drugged and drunk and stupid and my mind says to say this but I say that and my mind says Good job, idiot. Sorry, I'll say later, while I snort my next line of cocaine. Sorry.

Get me out of here. I am tired. I am not. But I want to hear the last bit of this song. It's pretty and mesmerizing and the female voice talks about protecting herself and protecting me, but it isn't me she really cares about. It's herself. 

Even the prettiest music comes from selfish, ugly people. I like to think that it comes from these moral beings-- but they're mortal, not moral. They're selfish and ugly and the veil hides them and there is nothing moral about any of us. It was all in my head. I am not.

Alice, you're so pretty. Why won't you fuck me? What's wrong? I can put on some makeup, if you'd like. I can try to look pretty. I know you yell at me and hurt me and pull on my hair if I don't but I swear I'll change. I swear I'll try and look pretty. Just don't go dying on me, because if the one thing that keeps me scared and alone and ugly and sad dies, I'll go crazy. I won't be able to take it. I'll end up killing someone and then they'll kill me.

I am not.

Marry me, darling.

Because we are so very pretty.