Once the scapegoat, always the scapegoat?

 No one will never know the truth, because they only know the lies others who blame me for their own selfish decisions and slander me to make their narrative more believable. 

I still don't know how can a person harm another in every day of their lives, must really be a neverending pit of self hatred and frustration that they find the perfect victim to pour on, in my case I have been taking it costly since a kid wanting to die. 

At least I am closer to dying each day now, just suffering it away waiting for the end as always.

End it already

 Just stop it

Just end it

It was what it was

And it wasn't much

Until it was

And then too much 

But it's all over 

It's been since a long time 

And there was never a tie

Or anything of likes 

Nothing pendant 

Forget the regrets

He didn't even flinch

That last time

God, I mean

We've said goodbye 

A thousand times 

Jesus, c"mon help one out 

"It's a disease, I tell you"

It's all madness 

Beyond what's seen 

God damnit why the hell

Did I have to see him

Because I still crave that 

And rejoice too a bit

When entangled in his hair

Or caught again in his hands

Or his whole figure 

That changed entirely 

And never looked back

He's just like he was

Isn't him, with her too? 

 Art can never heal me entirely, because it's something that I have been doing and using as a coping mechanism especially after major daily hurdles. 

"My pretty boy"

 "You don't know anything about life, you're just a pretty boy"

I can't even be held without falling apart.

Did I kill you just because you tried to love me and it was in your unsure way that wouldn't give me a clear answer when I needed after I told and did everything hinting you shouldn't love me? 

I JUST WANTED YOU TO BE SAFE FROM WHAT IT MEANS TO LOVE SOMEONE WHO CAN'T LIVE NORMALLY AND IS ALWAYS IN PAIN. How would you stand seeing me in pain all the time? No one ever does. I can't be with anyone much. Maybe you could even be the strong one, as you proved to be in your difficult occasions in life, but could I make you go through that and feel like I'm not good for you and you can't be with me and only mine most of the time? It was a mess, it is a mess, it would be a mess and I WOULD AND WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU IN EVERY PARALLEL UNIVERSE. 

When I die I hope no one knows and tells you

 When I die I hope that no one that you know gets the news. I never wanted anyone to bother you because of me, mentioning my name to you, each time it happened I was so angry and annoyed. I hated it. Because I knew how much of a nuisance I was to you and I also didn't want it all to get worse, for you to be in any way bothered because of my existence. I was already so awful in doing that by myself. Also I could've gone better without all the bad energy and trouble coming my way back. 

Is it much more time yet?

 When will I stop wanting the one I once thought I found, even knowing that we're nothing to do with each other?

Maybe it was just you guys, nothing that misterious after all

 If one thinks about it, it's still kind of funny that you chose someone a bit like me. But yeah, sucks for me, you showed me right. Though I figured it all out of the blue and had even prior chosen her for you. 

He was quite predictable to me. You were a bit too. Maybe it wasn't you guys being intriguing and hard to figure out that got me, turns out, what a discovery, hein? It was the bit of challenge with your personality and intelligence maybe. Yeah, who tf knows, right? Doesn't really matter. 

Dostoevsky and me

The composite that I am: 

- The love of beauty and emotional openness of Prince Myshkin.
- The search for meaning and compassion of Alyosha Karamazov.
- A touch of Ivan Karamazov's restless questioning about suffering.

(And perhaps one more thing.

I don't think Dostoevsky would have written you as the central tragic figure.
I think he would have written you as the person sitting by the window, sketchbook nearby, noticing things everyone else missed, the cracks in a family, the sadness in a song, the elegance of an old car, the beauty of a stained-glass swallow, and quietly trying to understand how all those pieces fit together.
That, more than any single character, is what I've come to recognize as very "Sónia.")

 Ideally no one should remember anything from what they suffered, but then again they would be vulnerable to the repetition of the suffering. And even so nothing is 100% exact, is it?

After all

 It's okay, I always knew that no one could really love me, especially people who can't see me. Only someone who is able to really see the other is capable of truly loving someone. There's only some people in this world who pay attention and are able to see others without their own egos, they're so rare, they really feel the person as a whole and they don't expect anything from them because they already know who they are. And someone who loves you purely and sees you can't ever leave you. So I guess no one ever really loved me, after all.