Loving you isn’t enough

It wasn’t enough to love you.

It wasn’t enough to love you the way normal couples loved each other.

I wanted to show you something new and different, something unique and soul-binding.

I want to open up the folds of the universe and dig deep to find a new heavenly way to love you.

I want to unearth the dead languages of the world to express how much I adore you.

Gods, angels, demons will weep at the love I have and express for you.

I want, I need to become you.

I need to possess you. 

I need to love you in a way that has existed long ago.

I need to become it. 

Become the being that terrifies you, but you can’t seem to get away.

Isn’t that romantic?

Romantic Urges

The urge to run my stiletto nails down his dark skin.

The urge to enter his dreams whenever I’m away from him.

The urge to learn dead languages of the world just to express my love for him.

The urge to perform binding rituals together whenever the moon is full.

The urge for him to leave bruises on my heart-shaped ass.

The urge to possess him and allow him to possess me.

The urge to turn myself into his worst nightmare.

The urge to cover ourselves in our own blood and swear to never leave each other.

The urge to destroy anything that gets in the way of our obsession with each other.

Nineteen

Nineteen.

On November 14th, 2002, I, Ari, was welcomed into this ruthless, cruel world with pieces of humanity scattered around it.

I came in with a rough start. Having low pulses which lead to my mother having an emergency C-section while my father folded towels.

My childhood is a blur, but I had happy and sad moments.

My mother and father were interesting people and showed me what the real world was like at a young age.

Showed me how to be utterly cruel to someone and turning around and pretending like it never happened.

My mother was, and still is, absolutely gorgeous and I envied her as a child.

Thankfully, I took on her looks.

My father knew how to make money and used it to make up for his absence in my childhood.

Thankfully, I’m materialistic.

I was good in school, but the people at school weren’t good to me.

I learned how to manipulate and punch people in the stomach while giving them a hug.

Detroit kids ain’t no joke, neither are the suburban kids.

I can easily look someone in their eyes and tell them a lie with no mercy at all.

I can hurt someone and knows that it had to happen.

Someone has to endure it and it won’t be me anymore.

Now, I’m nineteen.

In college, transferring schools.

I have the potential to be a success,

The potential to be a psychopath.

I have the potential to mess up my entire life,

The potential to mess up someone else’s entire life.

I have the potential to be a horrible, disturbed human being who ruins everything they touch

At

Nineteen.

B.D or B.P.D

I feel high, jumpy and touchy. My mind races with millions of thoughts, some gentle, many violent. The consequences of my actions don’t bother me, I did what I did and I’ll do it again.

No care, no care in the world. No care, no care.

I take every opportunity to dance with anyone. I sit on fences and don’t commit. I try different things, different risks just to see the outcome. I’m a broken instrument, unable to be fixed.

No care, no care in the world. No care, no care.

I’m done, tired and slowed down. I feel no pleasure and the things I like seem dull. The number on the scale begins to drop, but I still look heavy. The only place I would like to be is in my bed, laying on my tear-stained pillow. Suddenly, self-slaughter doesn’t seem so bad.

I don’t care, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care, I don’t care.

I’m a regret. My demons talking to me again. I can’t sit in a single class without thinking about ways I could end it right there and then. The thoughts and headaches increase, I can’t be alone.

I don’t care, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care, I don’t care.

I’m hostile, violent and resentful. If you even look at me the wrong way, I will snap. I daydream about taking a hammer and bashing someone’s head in with it. It’s obvious I don’t want to be bothered.

Why, Why should I care? Why, why should I?

I’m unstable, I think about the terror I could raise, how I could ruin everything in a matter of seconds. My blood is boiling, my mind is about to explode. I could kill someone right now. Why? Because I do as I please.

Why, why should I care? Why, why should I?