Malicious intent

Alone I sit in a empty booth by the window. I sit hoping that someone will notice. That at some point I’ll EXIST. I write in my notebook things I see from my view. Blackness, sorrow, hate, death, Tears, pain, mutilation, and blood lots and lots of blood.

There’s no way for me to know why none of them acknowledge me except for the snarky waitress whose probably spit in my food for the past few years. She doesn’t have to worry much longer I won’t be in tomorrow.

I start with her slicing her open with the butcher knife from the kitchen. Next the couple in the corner who make kissy faces at each other. They feel everything unlike I, I feel nothing. One by one I slice them open and eviscerate them. Well all except one of them a little girl who was there with her parents. “You I will let live cause I know you will remember me forever pretty girl. Forgive me for what I did to your life, now my life will be yours. Don’t ever tell them what I look like because if you do then I’ll find you. I don’t want to hurt you more then I already have.

I am lost beyond repair, I am broken hoping to be fixed knowing I never will. Torture is my life, inflicting pain is my gift. How many more times will I be ignored by those around me?

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The price of not caring

Why do I feel nothing? I don’t care about anyone or anything. Caring is the lost art of giving a shit about something when you really would just rather be left alone. You know that point you get to when you see someone you know but want to hide just to avoid having to talk to them. And it’s not really that I don’t like the person it’s just I don’t want to have an in depth conversation about their god damn dog. Yes having a conversation with me is just as fucking bad. All I seem to talk about is stupid shit or so I was told by K. Jepson. I do get on a topic and I run it into the ground. I’ll admit I’m not a good person I have no redeeming qualities, never had any, well maybe at one point I did actually but that was before the 4 most important people in my life died. Now I could not give 2 fucks about anything.

I most of the time hate myself and can see why people say the shit they do about me. My opinion probably will never change because no matter how much you say I’m good at something I just don’t believe you. Because that part of me that did believe has long since departed. I’m not pretty I’m fat you telling me I’m pretty doesn’t make either of those things not true. I will always be the awkward 14-year-old that got beaten up and told I was fat and ugly by the other kids, because I can never forget. Why live a lie when the truth is blatantly staring me in the face.

This may just sound like a bunch crybaby bullshit well your right I am a fucking crybaby. I’m a judgmental, passive aggressive, attention whore, with mommy issues, insecurities, self-esteem problems, and for some reason I have abandonment issues as well. Thank fully the childhood fucked me up enough that I never wanted anything to do with anyone one so I’ve never been in love or had my heart broke except by those I’m related to. My friends are all online. I don’t have one friend IRL that’s how pathetic I am.

When I watch a tv shows with teenagers on it and they have like best friends that they have known since they were 2 I envy that I always wanted something like that but I never had that. Also the sleepovers I always wanted those where lots of your friends sleep over but again didn’t happen. Not that I would have had the friends anyway.

I’m just going to end it now before i keep whining like a baby. Nothing more I just am.

There is pleasure in being nothing

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Nothing is what I became no more then a fleeting thought amongst a cavalcade of overwhelming desires to destroy. Lost in your pleasure that seeped into me like probing fingers bent on rendering my body useless. Never having the forethought of compassion to stop the excruciating hell you put me through. I slip needlessly into the waiting abyss where you keep me locked.

I struggle against my bonds, that become tighter with every move I make. I wait for the bliss to come tearing the flesh from my back to bring the pleasure that was promised. Only to be disappointed with the never ending torment at your hands. I’m almost there I feel it coming the beginning of the end. Razor sharp feelings tingling up my spine obliterating everything but horror from my mind. That darkened heart of yours brought me to this place and used me to slake your devastating desires.

I sit head bowed on the floor at your feet broken. I have no will of my own, no desire to be anything but your pet. You touch my head and I look up at you, the only thought in my mind is to please you. I am yours to command, use, and abuse. I finally get my pleasure when you command me to rise and I reply “Yes Mistress.”

Her name was disappointment

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There was a little girl with very dark hair and just as dark eyes. The little girl grew up in a house with 3 sisters and 1 brother. And even though the little girl was older then her siblings everyone forgot her.

The little girl was there, but she never spoke nor did anyone speak to her. She never got hugs or kisses, she would always jealously watch her sisters and brother receive their mother’s affection, and never once did the woman give her a second thought.

Years go by birthdays, & Christmases pass and never do they remember. Except when they do remember her, she almost wishes they hadn’t. Because when they do remember her they are never loving or nice. When the woman speaks to her it’s never to say I love you, it’s always how disappointing a daughter she is. Never does she disagree what would be the point, parents are always right aren’t they?

As the little girl grows into a teenager the darkness grows. Everything they say to her now feeds it, making her realize just how right her mother was about her after all. Disappointing for all she knew that was probably her name along with stupid, lazy, worthless, & bad. She never understood why her mother hated her so much. Why did she love the others, but not me. Maybe I really was bad, maybe I don’t deserve to have someone love me.

As she grows into a woman there is the turning point, which once breached sealed her fate. She then becomes everything they said she was, only she’s not so quiet anymore. The darkness became her parent, her mother, her father. The darkness showed her affection and nurtured her insecurities. It showed her love and encouraged her to become the monster that she kept locked inside.

On the day the little girl had been born a spectacular event happened. She had once been two, before she was born, she shared a womb with an identical sister each the same, but inherently different, both were special, both were meant for great things. A mystical inheritance was given to each child, but only one would receive. The little girl made sure she was the only one who was born that day and sealed her fate.

She walked down the hall towards her mother’s bedroom. Quietly she opens the door, and walks through, closing it behind her. She knew it would end this way never once did she doubt it her real mother had taught her that much. She comes to stand beside the bed, leaning over the woman that gave her life. She grips the knife hard in her hand, lifts her arm and says right before it punctures her mothers throat “Now who’s disappointing.”

As the knife slices through her mother’s eyes open. She presses harder watching the blood gush from the slice in her neck. Her mothers mouth tries to make words, but no sound escapes her lips. She wipes the knife off on the blanket and walks from the room. She walks out of the house and walks into the darkness becoming just another legend that parents tell their children to scare them into behaving.

She once more becomes the little girl everyone forgot. And her name was disappointment.

Biggest failure

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When I look at my reflection, I wonder if everything I was ever told isn’t actually true. Nothing more damaging than looking at oneself.

I remember there was a time when I was a kid when I was happy I just can’t recall it unless I have seen a picture. I really don’t remember being a kid. There are a few things here and there, but never very clearly do I see them.

This is when I look in the mirror and think am I actually that bad? Can I actually be worthless as a person? Can I have no value whatsoever to anyone? Not even my own mother. Aren’t they suppose to love you no matter what?

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” I remember saying this as a kid but that’s not actually true. The words hurt and are far more damaging then being hit with the stick. Because words to a little forming mind in repetition have an affect on what that child becomes. At some point that mind just gives up fighting and reprograms it’s self into believing those hateful words, making them true. I wonder if not hearing how worthless I was would have changed how I ended up. Would I be a happy, well adjusted, loved adult? Had someone just said well done, good job, you’re smart, you mean something to me, I love you. It’s easy to ask the what ifs but it’s not really going to change reality. Is it?

I’m a failure at being a person. I’m socially inept and introverted. I have never had a relationship with anyone ever. The friendships I have had usually end with them ending it. I have only ever had 1 best friend and she died. I have never been anyone’s best friend. I do not know how to not fuck things up. I’m an attention whore and if I don’t get it, I do passive aggressive things till I do. That is just how fucked up mentally I am, that I would think that was ok to do to another person. Especially one I cared about.

I’m the first born, but I come last. I stand in line behind the favorite daughter who ran from her, the perfect son with the perfect life, a drug addict, and an alcoholic. What am I? I’m just me the worst daughter that can’t find a job I’m her biggest failure.

Things you find when not looking

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I met her by chance minding my own business. Being online had never really held any surprises for me. The internet held two types of people the religious zealots or the dark perverse deviants. There was no in between and never the two shall meet. There were times they crossed over, overlapping forcing one to the others side, not that it happened often.

I was clearly not one of the religious zealots. My faith in anything remotely spiritual died like my childhood at an early age. I felt no need to believe in something that was just a story in a book. I am some what of a deviant I suppose and I was looking but not actively seeking someone who understood that. I was bored so I did what I normally do when I’m bored I posted a smartass comment on one of my friends post.

That was when she popped into my life. She sent me a message telling me she liked my pictures. Wasn’t sure to which pictures she was referring. Nothing that I could remember having posted was all that impressive. The majority was dark visions or a beautiful lesbian couple from some tv show I was watching. None of which should have evoked any interest in anyone, but in her it did.

At first it was casual conversation the get to know you things like name, where you from. But then the questions went on quickly to an intimate nature. Me never being one to share any intimate details about myself felt compelled to do so with her. She began the more intimate of her questions the first one mildly shocked me.

“Are you submissive?” I sat there for a moment. Pondering what it was that gave her any indication that I might be. There was nothing on my profile that gave away that I was.

I was curious so I answered her question with a question. “Why?” I had for awhile thought of myself as submissive, but I didn’t go around readily telling anyone that. Not even my closes friends knew of my desire to be dominated.

“Just wondered?” Her vague response made me think for a minute how to answer her. In the end I gave her just as vague a response.

“I suppose.” Was the best non committal answer I could come up with. The next question wasn’t a surprise.

“Are you lesbian?” She asked. I didn’t hide the fact I liked women I never openly told people I was, but my actions were very telling. If someone asked I would tell them. Even though I preferred women I wasn’t adverse to men either. I didn’t call my self a lesbian but in some instances I just said yes because it was less awkward.

“Well not entirely, no.” Which was the truth, although my experience with either was limited.

“Have you ever been in an D/s situation? Tell me to stop if you want.” Tell her no, that was not even the first thought in my head. It was weird how I felt compelled to tell her what she wanted to know. To give intimate information to a virtual stranger. What was wrong with me?

“No I have not and its ok I’m fine with the question. If I don’t want to answer I just won’t.” Which was a lie I would have answered her whether I wanted to or not, I just couldn’t help myself and I had no idea why. It was like I was under a spell that was making me do things I don’t want to and she was the one who was controlling it.

“I was just intrigued by your photos, they are very hot and wondered what they did for you. They are quite a statement and quite out there. I wondered if you were the Queen or the innocent?” Again, I didn’t think there was anything special about the pictures. Yes, they were of a very hot woman kissing a certain blonde. The pictures aroused me, I found the brunette very attractive. That I had had the fantasy of me being at the mercy of the Evil Queen considering who that brunette was, and thought maybe this woman would indulge me and pretend to be the Evil queen for me. But she didn’t, what I got was an entirely different conversation then I wanted.

“The pictures I think are hot otherwise I wouldn’t put them there.”

“I wonder how far your fantasy has gone with all powerful Queen and I assume she seduces the innocent or at least that’s implied in frisson.” When I was younger, I had encountered statements like this, they usually led to what was called cybering and I had to admit the thought of doing that again was intriguing.

I had done quite a lot of it, I always knew what they wanted and I always played the role that they wanted specifically. Some wanted daughters, others just wanted a woman they could force. And it wasn’t just men, women were just as bad as the men. There were several who wanted incest playing, I did it so many times with both sexes that eventually nothing seemed weird to me anymore. The majority of the time the play was one sided and I got nothing from the encounter physically except very aroused. Which would mean when I got a break, I’d take care of myself. You might ask what did I get from the encounters if I didn’t touch myself. The simple fact was I could make someone so aroused that every time they would see me online I was barraged with instant messages asking me to play with them. This was power it was Heady and addictive. I was good at making people want me, but it wasn’t real not really anyway.

I decided to answer her earlier question “I am definitely not the Queen. But I’m very attracted to her evil power.” And I was something about a woman who held power over my very life really turned me on.

“Could you see yourself being dominated in real life by an Evil Queen? I thought this question was leading somewhere, actually I was hoping that it led somewhere. I was enjoying this banter I hoped it continued.

“Of course.”

“Fabulous. Are you kinky?” I didn’t know how to respond to this. Was I? I figured that I was considering what turned me on.

“I suppose.” When she asked me to clarify that I didn’t know specifically what to tell her. How hard is it to tell some you liked to be dominated, tied up, and spanked. Being made to do things against my will made me so wet.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“Tell me your kinkiness.”

Blind vengeance

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I stand before them, but they don’t see me. All I want is an indication that I matter. One word from their lips that tells me I’m important to them. I stand alone always alone wishing for things I will never have. I grow weary of this constant torture they inflict. My heart can only take so much before it lapses into the dark void.

Darkness fills my every thought making me care less and hate more. I look at them with only scorn and vengeance now, knowing the best way to kill the pain is to rid myself of them. Destroying them as they have done to me will serve as my catharsis. Only when they are but a memory in my mind will I ever be truly be happy once again.

In killing that which I once loved most I damned myself to forever yearn for that which I can never again have, for that which I never had to begin with. Too late was the realization that my actions would hurt more then their neglect. Killing them would in the end be my death.