Never love a vampire.

My mind is broken. I am torn. All I want is to be left. Don’t try to fix me because I’m not okay. I never will be. Just leave me alone. How can you love me if I hate you? I hate everyone. Just let me go. Oh, fuck off. Don’t be a martyr. Don’t sufferme. I’m not your responsibility. Someone once promised me that God would carry my soul. But, you see, I don’t have a soul. I’m pale and empty and that is beauty. My hate is self inflicted. I am completely selfish. Don’t- please just don’t make me feel bad. Don’t make me feel. Let me jump. I want to get lost in the incandescence of this breaking dawn. I will be immortal because I sold my dead soul. I will be ancient. Just don’t come with me. Leave. Justleave.

I am fractured; the flaws in me stand out like the tiny imperfections in cracked porcelain. If you look close enough you will see that my smile is a grimace, that the shine in my gaze is just a reflection of a glassy stare. My teeth are as white as a virgin’s wedding dressing, but the sharpness of them was made to penetrate you. There’s little difference between me and the night. The speckled light of the stars is just the remaining shards of my soul; scattered and distant. Their gleam is tarnished by the dark

We are all in a construct. I now see the cracks in this scaffold we call existence and if I were to gaze outward I would see oblivion. I now see that we are a product of our influences and that nothing is pure, singular or natural. I’m not an individual; I am predetermined by my elders who have been predetermined by theirs. I am a copy of a copy of a copy. Their ideas gave birth to mine, whether they oppose or not. This existence is a mass effect. One ripple that has turned into another. I’m caught in flow and escape in futile.

I can be aware of the construct, the matrix. But I cannot break it down as I didn’t build it. I can look through the cracks but what is beyond is massive, dark and terrifying. We need this structure to control our existence; to give it a name. I used to think the construct was a lie but I know now that it is there to cover the absence of truth. I can choose to accept this, to plaster over the cracks and ignore it, blissful ignorance. Or I can be forever aware that nothingness is real and that whatever I do is meaningless; just another ripple in the water of oblivion. The rabbit hole is before me, will I fall? 

I vaguely wonder to myself whether or not anything holds any true existence. Is it all just random? I don’t think I agree. But, then again, I can’t be certain of myself.

I’m a self-made invention. I can be who I want to be, and there isn’t much more I care about. I’m a product of my influences. I have never cared much for anything and I’m afraid of people. The most glamorous thing about life is that you can choose to be an observer or to be the observed. I chose to be observed. I am the silent friend in your group, the beautiful accessory of dark coldness that you have all chosen. You feel that you have all excelled because of my silent presence, my acceptation, as though this means you all know me personally. But truthfully, no one can look into me. And truthfully, I don’t care as long as people find me interesting. The people that exist around me are all watching me, looking for something in my reactions or my feeling. At some point they will realise that I am only a ghost, an idea of a person. To them that makes me all the more interesting. 

Don't Trust Anyone.

Don’t trust anyone. There’s very little in this world I care about, with exception to myself. I would sit with my peers, gazing on. What they never understood was that my silence was plotted, picked out for pristine moments when I became invisible only to observe them, only to smirk at their stupidity and always know that I am better than any of them. They would call me an outsider and look at me sympathetically because they thought that having a shy friend like me would make them look so much sweeter. School politics. Playground etiquette. The Plastics have an odd friend, oh how sweet they are for accepting her into their group, how sweet! No one suspected me of anything.

The world would glance at me and I would glare back with all my fierce hatred and if the world were to ever noticed it would recoil in terror and disgust. I have seen the deserts, the blank landscape, the abyss that falls into nothingness. I never looked for a God because God never looked for me. I never searched for my reason because I knew there was no reason. I glare back at the world with all my fierce hatred because I know there is nothing beyond what I see. God is a copy of all the empty hope that fills our empty hearts. I now know that nothing is real and I feel cheated for it.

This realisation, this horrifying revelation came to me like a dream. Whatever I do, I know it doesn’t mean anything. It was a Sunday when my peers came to my house. It was a Sunday when I pushed one of them down the stairs. It was a Sunday when, with calm serenity, I stooped over her limp body and placed the heel of my foot on her nape, applied pressure until I felt the crack and crunch of her bones. It was a Sunday when I killed her just because I could. 

The heat through the window behind me was scorching my back. Already I can feel the ominous drumming in the back of my skull of an imminent migraine. Student’s Union. Fuck this place. What am I doing here? Only God knows. Whoever God is.

“Last night was dire,” sulked Jack to Amelia.

“No-one was out. But who cares? I’ve got to finish this God damned essay.” Whoever God is.

“Did you say something?” The two of them looked at me.

“Erm... No.”

Silence shrouded us for a few seconds. The migraine was in full-on attack mode. Abandon ship. My head is going to explode. Brains everywhere. It won’t be a pretty sight. A bird squawks outside and I wonder what the cost of killing it would be.