Defined

    I asked, "Who am I?", but their answer, although I've seen it coming, hurts like a thousand daggers. I should've known better than to ask to be defined by others. But what can one do, when they're just so desperate, that they cover theirselves with their own delusion? Trying to protect theirselves from the hurtful truth. But all the imagination in the world won't protect you from your own mind. It's not what they said that last, it's your own head. If you're just smart enough to repeat the sentence once and then start changing for the better, you wont be so heartbroken. I can't be like that, however. I like to drown in my own melancholy, destroying the heart, the mind, even the body, if I have to. I like torturing my own self to keep my sanity intact. Which they thought that the outcome will be the opposite of "sane". But what do they know? Nothing, right? Just like what I know about myself. But it's my fault, they - we - said. So despite everything, they pointed their fingers at me, but their eyes averted to her, the reddest, most beautiful rose in the garden. With a smile that wasn't directed to me, they said; 

"Who you are is no better than her"