You

You remind me of a glass doll with
ice cold walls.  I wonder if you realize
that you tend break to others just as
easily as they could break you back.

Not that they’d have to. You’re
already broken.


Leaking through your cracks
is chaos-or so you’d call it.
I can see it. It’s a malaise
of maliciousness, and hatred.

You hate yourself, don’t you?
It shows.


x


You remind me of a hideous
caterpillar, wrapped up in
a safe cocoon.  You’re so
wrapped up in anger.

Anger at yourself, perhaps, for not
ever being able to fix anything.


But sometimes, I can see your
wings peeking out. If it means anything,
I think you would make a perfect butterfly, if
only you could leave your cocoon.

Or have you been there so long that
it’s become permanently affixed?


x


You remind me of the mountains. Not
snow-capped or forested, but pointy
and ragged. The kind with chain link fences
to prevent rock slides.

Sometimes the damage isn’t that
easily contained, is it?


Still... I’ve always liked the barren mountains
like this the best. There’s nothing lush
to hide behind. Just yourself.
Just your damage.

I can’t help but want to climb to the
top, just so I can fall off.


x


You remind me of that sickly,
devastatingly beautiful sort of
sadness that can’t help but wrench hearts
out, and make me smile.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe that’s
just what you’re trying to do.


Your pain beautiful. You’re so
good at making madness, it’s become
your only art. And who am I to
keep from appreciating art?

Maybe one day I’ll become a piece of
art in your twisted collection.



x


You remind me of myself, so
I would really appreciate it
if you would stop causing so
much devastation.

I wonder if you remember how to
keep from doing so.


When you rip apart my scars with
the same old words I used to say,
I try to tell you that it’s alright,
That it’s not your fault and you’re okay.

Sometimes I wonder which one of us I’m talking
to, and which one of us is listening.