Hell to pay

Killwhitneydead.

What would I do without this band? Sometimes I wonder how I would’ve dealt with the anger I feel towards the past. And sometimes I forget that it is still there. It has been numbed and kept aside. Sometimes people tend to poke it and hold it in front of my face, so I see how it grins at me. Why would you do that? What are you trying to tell me? It’s no one’s business. I don’t need you to tell me what my problems are.

I’m sick of people coming to me because they need something—a fucking favour. I’d do it, yes, but afterwards, they’d be gone without even a goodbye or a thank you.
What if I’m not the only one that has hell to pay? Yes, sometimes, I close my eyes to them.

What do I do? Well, build a circle and walk around it…I need time to observe, can you grant me that? What I say probably doesn’t make sense to you. So all you do is laugh. OK, I’ll laugh with you. I just don’t need you to tell me how to open my eyes, as they are already wide open. You don’t know what the hell is going on behind those slanty eyes. There is one secret I can tell you, though: I don’t see things that I want to see; instead, I see things that I’m too scared to face. I imagine a spider, and there would be one crawling over my fingers. Do you know what it’s like? Not being able to control your fear? No, of course not, you’re mature enough and confident; you don’t need to worry about things like that.

Consider yourself perfect. You are so fucking boring.

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