hurt is a three-eyed demon with a splintering head
who stares at me vainly with deep, empty eyes.
i tried to poke them once, nothing was there.
hurt stands in front of my wall when i get home,
face to paint, and probably mocks the stains.
hurt peers over my bed rail at me at 1 am.
hurt sits hugging it's knees and craning it's head under my desk as i sit at it.
hurt will follow me around like a lost specter,
it's unsightly and it's gruesome.
i tried to break my fist against the wall
hurt just stood next to me, said nothing, as usual.
hurt stands at my window looking through opaque blinds to an even more grey sky,
hurt, i find, likes that rain blocks out the noises.
i open the blinds, to let the thunder in, i say.
i'm only mildly offended by the barren motions hurt exhibits.
but i don't mind, we've come to understand one another.
just two lost things walking in a nightmare when neither were ever asleep.
i'm not sure hurt is real.
i'm not sure.
i hate myself.
and still, hurt watches the no's flicker off of my head's vacancy sign.
this is actually a poem, not a dump, so if you'd please.