Skin Deep

I’m not saying I’m vain but I look forward to seeing myself in the mirror. I always try to catch my reflection in a window, it’s a view that’s unequalled, it gives me so much pleasure I hope it never ends. When I post I choose all the right filters, make all the right moves, wear the right clothes, have the most popular tattoos, have the correct balance of friends and like the most relevant music. I love talking to people, especially about me and my life, I like to fit in where best I can.  

I don’t like to be too greedy but wealth is something I think I enjoy more than most; I spend it the right way, on material things that make me happy. I do my bit of course, I usually choose the recycled option, take my coffee in a re-usable cup and give to charity. My friends think that I’m perhaps a little too self-indulged but you have to look after number one. I want the best things, the right look, I don’t want to be like I was when I was growing up. I don’t want my past catching up with me. I like to be the happiest where I can. 

Relationships are no problem; I find that I can get one when I want one but I’m usually only looking for something casual. I like the attention but I don’t want the effort. I’m more into desire where it leads to nothing. Driven by instant lust and dirty manoeuvres in the dark is more exciting than the mundane efforts of a long-term relationship. There is one I need, though, an easy fix, the one I usually go to when all else fails. I need to be liked and be the centre of attention when I can. 

I don’t like comparison, I don’t like competition, I only want to be at the top of the food chain. I can’t stand others that demand attention, always posing and giving disapproving glances to everyone else. I hate people who are so fake, using people for their own leverage. I only have the best friends, who I know I can rely on when I need them; I have a friend for every situation but I’m not that needy. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; some people should listen to those words and back off. I like to be the nicest person to all my family and friends, where best I can. 

At times I feel so bad that I need to buy myself stuff, I mean, a nice watch, a new pair of trainers, whatever it is it makes me happy. But being satisfied is never complete, I eat to compensate sometimes, I know it’s disgusting, but I can’t refuse a trip to a drive thru, sometimes eating more than I need. It makes me feel sick. I can order food whenever I want, I don’t always finish it before I throw up but I know it’s still there… in the morning. I do feel guilty, more than my mind is telling me, it’s a secret I can’t help giving in to. I admit, I need to put my fingers down my throat so I don’t feel fat today, I have to feel good about myself where I can. 

Do I have myself to blame for the errors I make? I don’t think so. I find that I’m always right, what pisses me off is everyone else getting involved with my life. My family are the worst, especially my parents. They always want to give me advice, disapprove of my choices, lecturing me constantly. They’re the reason I want to escape, the reason I don’t want to talk to them. The pure hate running through my veins are not the designer drugs I smash everyday but my parents’ voices ringing in my ears. I can hear them now, challenging me, undermining me, intimidating me and embarrassing me. I can’t stand it. I need to calm down if I can. 

So, I can walk away. I have all my comforts, all the friends and influences that I need. I’m not a one trick pony, I can move from one thing to another. Am I trying to prove myself to anyone? The answer is always no. I don’t need to validate anything to anyone, I am who I am. I don’t need saving; I can swim in these emotional waters just fine. I will try and change some of the mistakes, one day, when I can be bothered, after all, I’m not really that concerned with anything that didn’t work out. I don’t do regret. There was that one time though, I did feel bad, I can’t remember what exactly happened, but I know I felt so shitty after it. If I could remember but it doesn’t matter does it? I like to talk a good talk, sometimes. 

If I could go back and just listen sometimes, If I could stop talking about myself and noticed her, notice that she was lonely, I could have been better. I should have remembered her birthday but I was just so wrapped up in living for myself. I could have given her something, a small gift, to look her in the eye, being genuine, she would have respected that, I think. I know I didn’t treat her that well, I used her when I was drunk or alone, I could call her and she was always there for me, despite all the others I was messing around with behind her back. I shouldn’t have pushed her away; I knew I was doing it to hurt her. She was so full of life, such a beautiful person but all I wanted to do was destroy her and pull her confidence apart. I couldn’t cope with her affection; it just turned me to apathy. I should have seen the signs I guess, there wasn’t enough money I could throw at it to make it better, it was beyond redemption, but I kept giving her a way out every time. Retrospect is not a gift, a present under the tree. I could kill her, why would she do it to me? Why was she so confused? If I could have found the right words, even vengeance wouldn’t be an excuse. I was lost like a black sheep, I wanted to help but I just ignored it. I can remember the last time I spoke to her. She said she loved me but felt that I was just smothering her, she was drowning with me. At the time, I relished it, I enjoyed the power. If only I knew. I was never a good son; I was never a good boyfriend. I wasn’t a mate or a work colleague. I was a disease; I was only using them for myself. Now she’s gone I can never she her again, tell her how sorry I am, how stupid I was, I would take it all back in a heartbeat. To hear her heartbeat. 

Beauty is only skin deep…

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