hate
10:43 p.m.

I hate how hurting myself hurts you. I hate how you want me to always tell you, but when I do, you sink and become silent and depressed. I hate how you blame yourself. I hate how I don't regret it until I talk to you. I hate how you love me even though I don't deserve any of it. I hate how much I hurt you. I hate the way you just take it and still want to hold me. I hate how you don't smack me. I hate how I don't know why I do this. I hate the feeling that there is a reason behind it, something horrible that's making me do this that I just don't remember. I hate how I question everything I know is real. I hate how I don't really exist. I hate how the only real thing I have are scars, because I know I have you. I hate how it doesn't feel like you are real, it feels like it could all fade away and have never existed. I hate how scars are the only thing that lets me know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I exist, that I'm real, and alive.

Because people that aren't really there don't bleed, right?

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