Falling away from a self projection that's nothing but a lie meant for the contentment of others.
Fake.
A lie.
But it's pretty, isn't it?

I don't want to be the me that everyone thinks I am.
I don't want to hurt the ones that matter the most.
So much hate for the ones we love...

It hurts, it all hurts , you fight the tears and there's only so much you can do before it hurts more to let the tears come.

Like a serotinal bullet to silence the celebration, you just want to bury it like a miscarried bastard child and let it die, but it just won't. It bursts through the grave and lets everyone see just how hideous you are.

How hard is it tell your mother and father, you don't have a son, you have a daughter.

To see their hearts breaking , the disgust that they're inevitably going to feel.The sickening feeling of someone stealing their baby boy and leaving him in an unmarked grave.

What's worse yet is to wound the one you lay by at night.
Feeling everything you project for her is a lie.
Everyone wants a Hercules, but your one and only has an Athena hidden in a shapeless shell beside her every night.

You're a filthy, disgusting creature for rending her heart, playing her out like some sick plaything. And of course you 'never meant to' but that doesn't make you any less of a sadistic freak.

The deceptive lullabies you tell yourself until you fall asleep won't work anymore, like Eve you're damned to awareness.

Staring into the eyes of Oblivion and feeling nothing, wishing nothing but your own destruction, or better yet, to never have existed at all.

You slaughtered the man of her dreams like he was cattle, let his blood spill on the ground to use as ink for your twisted autobiography of sadistic desires to meld your flesh into something else.

A gender confused chameleon, you're not a real person, you're just a sick rendition of what once was, a doppelganger without a soul and desiring a body of their own.

Vile woman...vile woman in the reaches of my mind, you claim innocence , you claim to just want to be you. But you want to take his body, make him cease to be. Killing him so that you may live.

Would it be wrong to do such a thing when the poor child doesn't even want to exist? He never asked for the life he was given, being played like a puppet on a string to please those around him.

Should he really give way to a blossoming transcendence into something more 'beautiful?'

You put the lace on his skin to feel like your own, to feel beautiful while you're seeing things through his eyes...and you see a sad existence. Like a dying animal wishing for the end to come, yet being sustained so indefinitely.

Lay him down, cry your tears with him while you lay him to rest. Let him pass away in your arms.

After all...no one wants to die alone, do they?

Hold his hand while he passes from this world, tell him everything's going to be alright.

Oh how I love you and hate you so...

You're hated for only wanting to be you. I don't want you to cry anymore, I don't want to hate you, I want to embrace you. The real me shouldn't have to hide, not for the contentment of others.

I envy you...I lack the courage to show your face, oh I love you so. One must die so that you may live. You should thank him for desiring to give birth to you when everyone would rather see you wither and die.

Everything I want to be, though I watch behind a veil, too afraid to show my face. You don't desire to hurt anyone, you never did.

You simply wanted to be.

Wake up.