Angel. Cherub. Kind. Sweet.
They are saying these things about me, with bright and eager shining faces. It makes me want to vomit.
Why can't they see me? What is this glittering image that shines in their eyes? It isn't me. I'm not anyone's sparkly angel. Heero must have done a better job of covering up my insanity than even I realized. Not that I think he cares what the world thinks of me. But he was involved, and therefore it's a secret, don't ever tell.
My lips are sealed, but it doesn't make me their angel. I smile at them as politely as I know how, at the moment that I'm imaging running my hands across their faces. Ripping into their soft skins with my nails, drawing forth those shining drops of blood. Glitter for the party anyone? I can get some, it's in your veins. Forever wiping those horrible words out of their mouths, ruining those smiles. Like the colony I wanted to destroy.
My fingers itch for it, but I don't. I can't. Somewhere along the way I wrapped myself so deeply into the muffling layers of manners that they are automatic and constant, they get me through every situation without thought, without it really affecting me much. I know the proper responses to all the greetings and queries, and give them almost like Sandrock on autopilot. Only Trowa and Duo really know what is going on behind my eyes. The venom lacing my thoughts as I laugh silently in the eager faces. But I don't ever tell. They don't ever tell either. I don't know why.
I wish for Sandrock back with all my heart. So that I could go out and rip through the enemy, lose myself in the violence and destruction so that I don't have to think about how tame my life is. How deeply entrenched into this false cherub image I am. And people say that Heero has issues.
Sometimes I find my gun in my pocket when I'm getting ready for one of these parties. I have to stop and put it away, I can't pretend that I'm carrying it for protection. I take it with the dream in my heart of letting loose. Wiping those smiles and soft words out of my world forever. I can almost feel what it would be like...
Which all brings me back to Trowa. The only one who sees me. Who looks at me and sees the demon, the darkness, and the anger. He loves me for it, not in spite of it, not to cure me, not to make me into an angel. I'll never be his angel. I'll just be his lover.
I'm no one's angel.
They are saying these things about me, with bright and eager shining faces. It makes me want to vomit.
Why can't they see me? What is this glittering image that shines in their eyes? It isn't me. I'm not anyone's sparkly angel. Heero must have done a better job of covering up my insanity than even I realized. Not that I think he cares what the world thinks of me. But he was involved, and therefore it's a secret, don't ever tell.
My lips are sealed, but it doesn't make me their angel. I smile at them as politely as I know how, at the moment that I'm imaging running my hands across their faces. Ripping into their soft skins with my nails, drawing forth those shining drops of blood. Glitter for the party anyone? I can get some, it's in your veins. Forever wiping those horrible words out of their mouths, ruining those smiles. Like the colony I wanted to destroy.
My fingers itch for it, but I don't. I can't. Somewhere along the way I wrapped myself so deeply into the muffling layers of manners that they are automatic and constant, they get me through every situation without thought, without it really affecting me much. I know the proper responses to all the greetings and queries, and give them almost like Sandrock on autopilot. Only Trowa and Duo really know what is going on behind my eyes. The venom lacing my thoughts as I laugh silently in the eager faces. But I don't ever tell. They don't ever tell either. I don't know why.
I wish for Sandrock back with all my heart. So that I could go out and rip through the enemy, lose myself in the violence and destruction so that I don't have to think about how tame my life is. How deeply entrenched into this false cherub image I am. And people say that Heero has issues.
Sometimes I find my gun in my pocket when I'm getting ready for one of these parties. I have to stop and put it away, I can't pretend that I'm carrying it for protection. I take it with the dream in my heart of letting loose. Wiping those smiles and soft words out of my world forever. I can almost feel what it would be like...
Which all brings me back to Trowa. The only one who sees me. Who looks at me and sees the demon, the darkness, and the anger. He loves me for it, not in spite of it, not to cure me, not to make me into an angel. I'll never be his angel. I'll just be his lover.
I'm no one's angel.