Blood.

I used to wish that when I had cramps that I could just slice myself across the waist with a knife and let all the pain just drain out. Or when my bursitis in my hip acted up that I could stab a long hypodermic needle into the bursa between the joint and just puncture the inflated thing and pull all the hurt out. If I could make a large incision, or cause a catastrophic injury what I was feeling inside, the nervous pain, would leave. It was in the blood or the bursa fluid. It wasn't a sensation, but a physical presence. Microscopic, but existing. Like a kidney stone, how it calcifies into an impossibly small, spiky piece of protein. That's how I see pain. Sharp, tiny shards that invade my body and are a real, physical presence.
Now they congregate like magnets. Now the pain is weighted and brings my body down. The injuries, no matter how catastrophic or meaningful they may be, they don't or can't get rid of this weight. This idea in my head violates all medical knowledge that I've attained, but it can't be shaken. Now the injuries are replaced.
I use antidepressants to dissipate the weight. It breaks it apart, dissolves it, redistributes it. The drugs destroy my sense of tact, and my ability to either cry or smile. I'm unemotional, and point blank honest. But therein lies the problem, even by inflicting this upset on others, it doesn't leave me. It's only represented in words and actions. It's a shallow imitation. Understand yet? That's okay.
Only one person does.

I Do.

Sterling silver symbols,
Sincere and simple.
Penetrated by my fingers and neck.
Chain changed to choke me?
Ring riddled to rule thee?
Potential to force us to wreck.
No, not "never" or
Nods to a "no more."
I'm fighting as hard as I can.
Honey, hold on!
Heal heartache, it's gone.
I don't need a boy, but a man.

Over the Stars

Let's start with my looks...
shouldn't be too hard.
*tick*
Well, the Aero clothes can go,
didn't want 'em anyway.
Sell 'em, get some money.
Hot topic? Black band shirts!
New, skinnier jeans.
*tick*
Well, the pink makes my eyes pop, but
A more nude makeup is in order.
Translation, barely any.
Except eyeliner. Soft grey. Black sometimes.
*tick*
The hair? Well, it needs edge.
Edge! Shorten to shoulders and blunt to layers.
Dye it dark again.
That wasn't so hard.
*tick*
iPod.
Gaga, guilty pleasures galore.
No more pop synth tracks or hip hop beats.
Torrent, download screams and pain and angst.
Not too hard.
*tick*
Quick, Tim! Show me what a "Far Cry" is...
No, wait...Sarah! I know he can trust you...
What's "Gears of War"?
Teach, teach! Adapt me!
Spin my hands at the 360.
Not too hard.
*tick*
Close...no...distant! Yes.
Hide affection, apathy. No caring.
No surrend-*tick*-er...
Too Hard.
My clothes!
*tick*
My looks!
*tick*
My music!
*tick*
My interests!
*tick*
My essence!
*tick*
What do you do when *tick*
You know how to change
But you're fighting the clock?
*ticktickticktick*
STOP.
....is he gone...?