my eye is wrecked, my skin is grafted and scarred, i've lost my mobility, i am fragmented inside, i can't even speak some days, everyone i know will either betray and hurt me or abandon me.

hollow promises of safety and happiness and friendship. the momentary distractions are nice but i know it's never enough. i have no place and so i sit in hell, i sit in the darkness. people only listen momentarily when i yell for them but who cares about vince here, he's a bloody weak idiot.

but what's that to the world, maybe when my arm is broken again or my other leg messed up, or the rest of my ear ripped away, or once every last shred of dignity and pride i have left is stolen again, maybe then i can call myself broken, because apparently i haven't bled enough yet.

not a broken object. a broken person. people can heal but only to an extent. keep breaking a person over and over again and the extent to which they can heal is hardly worth the effort.