Post by Spottedpath on Apr 7, 2015 7:27:14 GMT
'Another mask? You've got to be kidding me.'
'That's so pathetic. You're pathetic. Leave.'
'You never have helped anyone. I hate you.'
'You're disgusting.'
'Quit hiding, your masks are so obvious.'
Circles, Circles. My life runs in a path of distraught, broken circles.
. . . The noises I always have in my head, yelling at me for my errors.
I always see it coming, and after it happens I always make another mask.
. . . Who am I, really?
"Danny". . . That's what you call me right? That's not my real name. . .
The face you know about me is another mask. . . My hardest mask. . .
I hide behind it. I hide because I know you'll hate me more.
. . . Speaking behind my back, it still manages to get around.
. . . I always find myself doing the same thing. . .
Pissing off everyone. Everyone hating me. . . Am I bad?
I mask myself and retry. Always retry. I never win.
. . . My masks always break and I am left like this.
. . . Recovery is impossible. . . Improbable, even. . .
Mostly because all everyone does is point accusing words, never helping, never seeing.
. . . Loathing. This feeling of self-loathing.
Courage is a thing I lack.
. . . Tell me. . . What irks you so?
My Sarcasm? My Words?
My Aggressiveness?
My Tears? My inability to hold my mouth?
What do you see my mask as?
Circles, Circles. My life runs in a path of distraught, broken circles.
. . . The noises I always have in my head, yelling at me for my errors.
I always see it coming, and after it happens I always make another mask.
. . . Who am I, really?
"Danny". . . That's what you call me right? That's not my real name. . .
The face you know about me is another mask. . . My hardest mask. . .
I hide behind it. I hide because I know you'll hate me more.
. . . Speaking behind my back, it still manages to get around.
. . . I always find myself doing the same thing. . .
Pissing off everyone. Everyone hating me. . . Am I bad?
I mask myself and retry. Always retry. I never win.
. . . My masks always break and I am left like this.
. . . Recovery is impossible. . . Improbable, even. . .
Mostly because all everyone does is point accusing words, never helping, never seeing.
. . . Loathing. This feeling of self-loathing.
Courage is a thing I lack.
. . . Tell me. . . What irks you so?
My Sarcasm? My Words?
My Aggressiveness?
My Tears? My inability to hold my mouth?
What do you see my mask as?
'What are you thinking?'
'Please stop crying. . .'
'We care.'
'Hey. . . Cheer up!'
'You're definitely something.'
. . . Oh. . . These words again.
I usually don't accept them, because I never smile.
I don't see myself worthy of these words.
Somehow, they still come.
My name. I hate it.
I've covered it up so many times, it's vague now.
But since you seem to care, the slightest even.
'Samuel'.
. . . My true face?
An injured person who hates more injury.
. . . I don't like anger. I'd rather heal others, than myself.
. . . But for once, I'd like to see someone whom doesn't like me, smile and say nice words.
I know. . . I don't deserve this.
. . . Oh. . . These words again.
I usually don't accept them, because I never smile.
I don't see myself worthy of these words.
Somehow, they still come.
My name. I hate it.
I've covered it up so many times, it's vague now.
But since you seem to care, the slightest even.
'Samuel'.
. . . My true face?
An injured person who hates more injury.
. . . I don't like anger. I'd rather heal others, than myself.
. . . But for once, I'd like to see someone whom doesn't like me, smile and say nice words.
I know. . . I don't deserve this.