I am a special kind of hurricane. The acid rain hammering down like gunfire melts my skin off, and my diseased flesh and bloody bones are aching with the pain of a loss I cant explain. The howls of the wind in my ears drowns out every sound but that of my own self hatred and insecurities. Debris whipping around my body causing wounds that look suspiciously similar to self mutilation and no one is around to hear my screams because most of them are smart. Smart enough to stay away from the destruction that is, Me.
Because you see, people like me are dangerous. We are damaged, we are broken, we are angry and sad and lost and we leave heartbreak trailing behind us because the ones foolish enough to love us, bend over backwards until they break trying to make us better. They think that they can repair the cracks in our psyche, fill the empty voids in our eyes, make us feel something bigger than the agony of life. And in the end, we just suck them dry. We suck out every bit of strength and self confidence and happiness and love that they have, and then we are left just as empty and alone as before except now, with the added guilt of having taken another life.
I am a special kind of hurricane. The kind that teaches you exactly why storms are named after people.