Sick, Little Games

It’s a really sad, pathetic game we both play; each of us pretending we’re better off without he other. Each of us remain trying to hurt the other and wound each other deeply-unlike anything we’ve ever experienced. Each game is like a small battle, but at the end of it all, when the dust clears and we’re looking at each other from across the battle grounds, each of us caked with bruises and scars, more monstrous and cold than ever before…we find longing. We’re two halves of a whole, thinking so similarly, we begin to detest each other and ourselves. We are our greatest adversaries and our harshest critics. We understand pain and yet we pretend it doesn’t exist. We pretend to be incapable of the things most people depend upon for a successful and healthy relationship-trust, vulnerability, fear, and love. Cold and calculating, we never let the other know how close we are to true emotion. We slam the door on any real feelings and stab quietly at bruises until such a time as they become black from the process. We feel immune to normalcy and refuse to acknowledge anything even remotely related to normalcy. We are sadistic and masochistic. We insist on instilling pain and pretend we receive some but feel a great sense of deservedness and relief when we experience it. I was scared at first to admit pain is real. I was scared to admit that I had been beaten, bruised, stabbed…and somehow survived through it all. I pretended that I was fine. Always fine. But I’m not afraid as much anymore and I am shattered inside. You’re still playing sick, pathetic, make-believe games.


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