I will never not exist, I can only be forgotten.

Mother will never forget she gave birth to me, father can never reject how he unearthed me. People who have met me and spoke to me can say they know me, knew me. So my dream of disappearance will never be fulfilled.

At the very least I want this feeling of sickness in my stomach to disappear. The way it is quelling and swelling is hurting, birthing a new kind of pain that maims me and trains me to keep my mouth shut. You’ll puke if you talk too much. You’ll keel if you talk too much. You’ll reveal if you talk too much. You’re real if you talk too much.

Don’t be real but don’t be fake, just stay silent, or else what  you say will be a mistake and you’ll regret it so shut the fuck up. Be numb, uncaring, staring, wearing that frown that has become more familiar than your smile. Just for a while. When you’re alone you can let the real emotions show but for now, closet it. Make it disappear.



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