Vent.

!!TW!!

!!WARNING, MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND IMPLICATIONS OF PAST SH!!

I am a half formed person.

I am not a child, yet I feel I am not quite an adult; despite the years I've spent to prove otherwise.

I have no human experience of my own.

I've lived long enough, yet have only half baked nightmares to show for it.

I had but one accomplishment I was truly proud of, and you have managed to prove it entirely obsolete time and time again.

There is nothing I can do that you cannot top. 

You call yourself stupid. You say that you're trash.

But then, what does that make me?

I am everything that you hate, and yet you claim that I am perfect.

The way you half smile and say, "Good job" after I fail something you have accomplished a hundred times makes me want to die.

The only things I have to show for my efforts are half written stories, partially planned drawings, dozens of sleeves full of my own blood, and a giant second place medal.

My existence is a second place medal.

Better luck next time.