They say that your sibling is the only one person that stands by your side for ever, through thick and thin...however, I beg to differ.

I may not have killed an innocent person, or cut myself in all the wrong places but what I did do was unforgettable.

It was just another day, gloomy, dull and completely static. The sun barely shines and the flowers rarely bloom but today; Today was different. Sorrow really does act like a filter to you, blurring colours and blinding any joy radiating from anyone.

I walked down the street to the annual bacteria workshop in school, cringing at the sound of any car rush by me. My dysphoria seemed to be heightened. I inadvertently kicked a rock at an innocent feline causing it to scramble just because I wanted too. I really wasnt feeling quite well. I may seem like a misanthrope but I can assure you, I am not.

After about fifteen minutes , I walked into the narrow gray halls of my highschool. I could hear my teachers voice, and I knew that I was late. As I was neared my destination I heard my brother in the neighboring class speaking intensely to my teacher Mr. Ryan. Almost involuntarily I crept closer to the worn off wooden door, and after adjusting my ear I could finally hear their converstaion. Once again, curiosty had gotten the best of me.

“Yes, my sister did.” spoke my brother tentatively, “It's not possible. Sarah is a hardworking student, her grades can prove that. She has never cheated and I dont think she ever will” contradicted my teacher in a more melancholic tone. Ryan was my literature teacher and my most trusted ‘pal’ at school. As an introvert, I rarely ever conversed with other students.

“She did. She told me herslf. I even recorded her.”

I saw him play the recording from inside the room, and my teacher seemed to be convinced.

“You know that she has to be suspended, correct? And she may never be allowed into this school again if the principal deems it so?” asked my teacher curiously.

“Justice should be served” agreed my twin brother. I almost felt like I heard a bit of pride and humour in that sentence. The scene seemed so planned. Like my own flesh and blood waited for just the right time to devour me.

Almost consequently I raced to the restroom and shrieked in pain. I felt my whole world collapse. I pictured my family’s disgust as they picked up the phone in an hour only to know that their smartest child was a liar. A cheater. I hated Nate. I wanted to kill him. The SATs were the most important exams, and if one were to be caught cheating (or framed, as in my case) there would be no getting over it. My molten rage had solidified and I knew what I was going to do. I rushed to the chemistry lab and mixed an explosive mixture of chemicals. When you top your chemistry tests every week, making compounds that have drastic consequenses was common sense. I felt no guilt, love or even doubt. I grabbed the flask and walked back to the class Nate was in, placed it on the top of the door and left. In exactly 10 minutes I heard screams everywhere. Teachers were racing through doors, students sat confused, and nurses rambled quickly on phones.

I hurt him permenantely. I destroyed him. My own brother. My blood. I stood near his hospital bed staring at his terribly scarred and bandaged face. Beneath which lay my doppleganger. I felt nothing. I wanted to strangle him but I felt my parents gaze on us and I remembered that I wasnt alone. So I walked out quietly and grinned.

Psychopaths usually do....

Everybody thinks,

That I am over you.

Everybody assumes,

That I moved on a long time ago.

Everybody believes,

That I think you are a jerk

Nobody knows,

That our shared passion is something I cannot forget.

Nobody knows,

That as hard as I try, I can't get you out of my head.

Nobody knows,

That I am not, and never will be, over you.

I attended a religious, private school for 7 years. As a child, I found everyone & everyone perfect & kind, considering them like my own family. As I grew older & grasped an understanding of my school, that feeling of family ebbed away. Everybody became my enemy except several, but there was one who I should've became my enemy.

I won't go into detail, because it's lengthy & a bit confusing to explain, but this girl (we'll refer to her as IV) decided to ruin my reputation, have the school turn against me, gossip spreading & splitting the school into two sides. She, of course lied about it, potraying me as a maleviolent person who ruined her & made her depressed. With half the school against me, I stood no chance. IV was the queen of the school, despite her bitchy attitude, they all loved her & respected her, even if she was wrong. Her past justified it because she was suffering through so much at home.

Of course.

This was the year I had to fight through hell. Nobody had the audacity to do what IV did.

And while I coughed on smoke & brushed ash off my clothes, I began realizing: I wasn't the only one. I began learning about what she had done to others, taking advantage of them, lying, shattering them, & playing the victim when asked about it.

I had to do something. Anything. Spit on that bitch's face, shove her, expose her, anything.

But I stayed silent, because I knew I couldn't. It would only worsen the reputation she molded & the one she stuck to me.

Soon, the school year was over, & I attempted to put this behind my back, focusing my future on the new school year in public school.

I couldn't. I wouldn't. How could I leave the school without putting this girl through anything? After what she did to me, others before me, & what she plans to do to others in the future? She can't walk out of there, believing she's justified to torment others with her little mind games.

One night, I ranted to my brother about IV: about how much I hated her, inquiring how people still liked her & didn't see through her &-

"Make an Instagram account & diss her."

Boom. How did I not think of this?

"But, what if she finds out-"

"Pretend to be someone else."

I gave it some throught: would it be petty? The answer: no. Did she deserve it? Yes.

I grinned. "Okay then. I'm gonna tell my friends about it,"

I told them one at a time & they all agreed to it, extrubent at the thought of destroying her. I gave a sigh of relief: I'd never walk alone with these girls.

We made a group chat, planning our account, sending disses faster than Usain Bolt, & deciding when we do it.

Boom. Another thought: why only diss her? We could expose her too.

Of course, I told, they agreed.

Everything now is planned & we plan on putting this plan into action tomorrow.

If anyone asks: "I have no idea what you're talking about." "I'm sorry to say IV, but why would I even bother talking to you? I'm so glad I don't have to see your face daily. Get yourself together & realize not everybody likes you."

She might tell her friends she got bullied on Instagram. They might believe it's me. But as much as I wish to blurt out, "Yes bitch, it was me, I hope I fucking shattered you to pieces & I hope I turned everyone against your petty ass!" I must keep a stoneface & placid demeanor, saying "I have no idea what you're talking about." "It wasn't me. I'm so glad to not see your face anymore, do you seriously think I'd bother texting you? Why am I responding to you, anyway. I should just let you jump to your retarded conclusions, like you do all the time."

It's not petty.

It's not cruel.

It's not messed up.

It's the sweet taste of revenge.

It's saving others from the damage she'll cause them.

It's doing it for the victims of this girl's masquerade.

Hush, pretty princess, don’t say a word

Your last screams shall not be heard.

When your bloodstained chest grows still,

I’ll sit with you on the windowsill.

As I watch your trembling gasp

Your cold hands I’ll gently clasp.

The finest clothes I’ve made for you

Crimson dress and lips so blue.

We will sway in our last dance

Sturdy branches and ceiling fans

And when I’ve painted you bright red

I’ll paint me and we’ll be dead.

My deepest, darkest secret is I am in love with a married man. Letting him in with the pretenses of being just a friend, I quickly fell in love with everything about him. He was the most charming, loving, supportive and hardworking man I ever met. During our courtship, he often dropped clues about his living situation. I told myself he is only looking out for his ex-wife because his heart and soul belongs to me. There was no way Mr. Prince Charming could still belong to another through marriage. Not being invited to family events or graduation celebrations, red flags flew higher than my love for him. My heart won the battle my mind was so willing to lose. I pretended each day my newly founded relationship was one to last forever. Slowly, I noticed there were others riding this express train of love with us. The other passengers looked so differently than me but wore the same expression of love for my married man on their faces. Could it really be anyone could get a ticket on my love train? As the tickets began to pile up on the shattered floor of my expectations, my selfishness took over my senses. I didn't want to share my married man with any of them. With less time spent on me and our conversations, I could only assume there was more time spent on them and their conversations. I picked up my pride, brushed off my ego and ran out the back door with all of my unresolved hurt and anger. It's sad to say, almost a year later of not riding my love train; I am still in love with my married man.

Alice got her favorite blocks from the shelves in her closet and dumped them on the pink shag carpet of her bedroom floor. The blocks had beautiful painted pictures of wild horses once you put all the blocks together correctly.

She put the first block down. “I hate you,” she thought. She put a matching block next to it. “I really hate you,” she thought. She put a third block next to the first two. The picture so far showed rolling green hills, but no horses. “I really, really hate you,” she thought. The fourth block started the second row.

“I’m going to hell,” she thought. “I’m the only person alive that hates their grandmother.” She put a second block in the second row. The scene now had a chestnut mare’s head. “I hate you and I’m going to hell for it.”

“Alice, lunch time!” her mother called. She carefully walked out into the hallway and walked along the wall to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Just before her grandmother’s room, she paused, held her breath and darted past the threshold. As she flashed by, she noticed that her grandmother was not there. She released her breath in relief and rounded the corner into the kitchen, shouting “Mom-“ but swallowed the rest of her sentence when she saw her grandmother already sitting at the kitchen table. She turned abruptly, but wasn’t fast enough. Her grandmother’s arm shot out and latched onto her wrist. Grandma’s hand was like a bird’s claw, but her grasp was unbreakable. She pulled Alice toward her and hugged her until it felt like her ribs cracked. Alice leaned back, trying to avoid the kiss that was coming. She failed. Grandma planted a wet one on her cheek and tickled Alice with her whiskers. The smell of moth balls was overwhelming. Alice squirmed. Grandma finally released her. Alice ran to her chair and started wolfing down her spaghettios. Her older brother, Ricky, sauntered in and walked past Grandma and plopped down in his seat and started in on his spaghettios.

Mom cleaned up the mess from making lunch and grandma ate her liverwurst sandwich.

“Kathy, turn on the TV,” Grandma said.

“Not while the children are eating.”

“It’s just lunch. I’m sure Alice would like to watch cartoons. Turn it on now.”

“No.”

“Cartoons aren’t on now,” Ricky said.

“I’m done,” Alice said drinking down the rest of her spaghettios from the bowl and jumping up and running to her room.

“Don’t you tell me no,” she could hear Grandma say even with her bedroom door closed.

“They are my children, and I will take care of them according to my rules.” Alice heard Ricky run for the front door and the slam as he made it outside.

“You’re a bitch,” Grandma screamed. “You don’t have an ounce of motherly love in you! You’re cold and rigid and only care about rules!”

She heard the back door open and her mother walk out onto the patio.

Grandma still sat in the kitchen. Crash! Alice and her mother ran to the kitchen. There was Grandma, on her back on the floor with her sandwich being eaten by the dog and her milk splattered across almost the entire kitchen. Again.

Mom helped her up. “See what you’ve done?” Grandma said. “You don’t care about me at all. You left a helpless old woman alone. I’m sure I broke something. I think you should take me to the hospital.” Instead, Mom helped Grandma walk to her room and turned on Grandma’s portable TV. The Price is Right was just starting.

Alice started wiping up the milk. “I hate you,” she thought. “I wish you were dead. And I’m going to hell because of you. Hating your grandmother must be the worst sin of all. There’s no way I can tell a priest about this! I’ll never be forgiven for my sin! I hate you! I really, really hate you!”

#secrect#hate#love

Obsession or passion?

Where does the line lie?

I knew he existed when he sauntered into the coffeeshop.

I knew I liked him when he ordered the exact same drink as me.

I knew his likings, when I saw his Star Wars keychains.

I knew where he lived, as I followed him back.

Silently, watching.

I knew so much about him.

But I still did not know what he would think of me.

And so, I will remain, silently sipping my cappuccino with extra whipped cream.

If passion is obsession,

I guess I’m obsessed.

Astral Projections

Clouding the taste of reality

Omnipotence

A gift to the man who knows his worth

Sight fogged by visions grandeur

Lives grown catatonic

Death casts a lecherous stare upon those

Whose eyes are drawn towards the sky

Eulogies given to those undeserving

Their words food for the cynic

A sirens call coercing them into twilight

An elevated state of mind

Sinking into the everblack

Devoid of empathy the goliaths fall

The dead congratulating their descent