To understand this you must understand the pathetic perfect life I have always had. My life is like a box, white and every angle perfect in its dimensions. Nothing is wrong. Well, every so often it suffers a dent, or a slight crease, but nothing that can't be easily fixed. My life is perfect. My parents live happily together, my brothers and I talk, we get along and we laugh and hide each other's mistakes from the parents. The people I work with are my friends. I got good grades at school no matter what. Even now, I have to try to fail. With no effort, I succeed as well as other people. I guess the answers, I make them up and yet I somehow succeed.

Why? Is it my genes? Is my perfect life here to crush me, to will me into a happy life I cannot escape?

I do not drink. I do not smoke. I know no one who has died without living their three score years and ten. The medicines in my house are kept out of reach of children. I read labels before I buy and I make sure I don't over spend. I went to a school with a uniform and no metal detectors. At my job everyone is friendly and they catch up on the weekends with their husbands and kids and perfection. Everything is white, clean, cream, suited up and dressed for success. I hate it. I need you.

I need you because you are not me. You are everything I would, could, want to imagine myself to be.

You are cruel, you are cool, and I want more of your smoke rings and black magic. I want you to pour out your sorrows so I can feel your heart break, as though it was my own pulsating bloody muscle torn in two. I could never let myself believe that raw pain like this could be real.

I want to taste it. I want to know what it is like to cry like you do. I want to lick your cheeks clean of tears and know how fear makes sweat. I want to hear the anger that raged between your ears when your mom broke a vase, the vase your dad gave her, the vase she tried to hit him with. I want to hear the anger that still rages there. I want to feel you.

I've been the shoulder that people cried on but did I choose the wrong guys or do I just not love enough to weep over a heart that was meant to be broken like he wanted?

Perfection. I know you will hate me for saying this, but it's not a life. The car I drive should not be mine. The house with it's neat garden and photography on the walls, it's not mine.

It belongs to the person I never wanted to be. I didn't want to be this pathetic. I didn't want to be perfect. It wasn't meant to happen.

Please save me.