Rage

So I am torn apart by rage, rage for the injustice that has been done in my life and the things that have been said to me in pain and in anger and in sadness but I wonder what will happen if I was to change and become the person that no one wants me to be and I wonder if she’ll be happy and I wonder if she’ll be sane or I wonder if she’ll still feel like ripping it all apart and tearing a hole in the fabric of time and then in the next minute I’ll be crying my eyes turning red for the girl that is lost somewhere in my head and I wonder if she’ll ever be able to be free but is it too much to ask that I live just for me or is it just one of those things that happiness is not meant to be and part of me wonders if anyone is there or if anyone’s listening or if anyone cares or am I just a spoiled rotten bitch to the core or am I just mental and want too much but I have never known what it’s like to be me and I think of how easy it would be to give in and let the rage take over as I slash at my wrist and let the pain burn and feel the blood rushing out yearning to be free. Oh to be free . . .