Already Dead

"Gosh, you're such a freak." "Did you wake up that ugly?" You say to me. It has become a daily ritual that we partake in. You say what comes to that cruel, unsympathetic mind. And I sit, listening, telling myself I'll be home soon. Just a few more hours. Not the rest of my life. "Must be hard to look in the mirror. Is it cracked by now? You're a monster." You laugh. I slide further into my desk, waiting for you to leave, as you usually do. I never look up, too afraid to make eye contact. That'd be too personal. Yet you always find a way to get eye level with me so I can see the anger in your eyes; masked is hurt, maybe, pain from your own life as if belittling me helps any. "Tomorrow. Same time as usual. Don't get any more beautiful on me." You say, clearly kidding. You finally walk away. I exhale out, letting the air I've been holding in escape. I sigh and get up to leave. Whatever I'm feeling I push down inside, just like any other day. I can't break. Not now, not here. I go home and head to my room. Once there, I can feel. Fear and frustration, cross my mind first. Anger and agony, follow. Sorrow and sadness, next. Then come the tears. Warm as they may be, they do nothing to warm my heart. The words of the day always find a way to my memory. Ugly, freak, monster. Today was a mild day, most are worst. The tears continue for an hour, tissues fill my bed. Then they stop and I go on about my night, always anticipating tomorrow. The next day is the same. Different day, similar names. Hideous, midget, elf. I try to feel nothing, but today I feel bitter. Years of torment have changed me. Allowed me to remain quiet inside until I want to feel. At the end of of the day, as we normally would part ways you ask, "Why don't you just kill yourself?" For once I look up, "But I'm already dead."