To some people I know self destruction is a phase in their lives, something bad, for awhile, for their grandoise moment. To me its become me, part of me, a fact of life, that this heart can't cooperate with the mind, and that this soul is splitting in this skin. But amidst all this, I am quietly content with things such as littering my room with
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how'd you get so wise, Naz? i don't even know what self destruction is anymore.
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everything from threatening to kill yourself, to cutting, to pretending to be bipolar, to adopting character traits that belong to people you call friends then claiming them as original aspects of your individuality.
YOU've done it all, Naz.
You are nothing, if not consistently and utterly pathetic.
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Is that why you choose to freely brandish the tiny little nicks on your body? Tiny little nicks that draw curiously sympathetic stares from strangers? Insignificant scratches that you want to call scars?
Or is that why you routinely choose to pretend to be something other than the cowardly wreck that you've always been.
Wake up, Naz.
It's only pity we feel for you, never love.
Though we don't blame you for simply preferring the latter. It is afterall, what you've always been after. You sorry little attention seeking wench.
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