I can imagine how he thinks of me:
The weak girl’s desperation.
But to this day, I can’t believe
It was all his manipulation.
I believed that I was stronger;
Thought that I could play the part.
Pretend I was normal a little longer,
And maybe then I’d really start.
But in all eyes, I the fool
Was caught up in the act —
Though whether it was mine or his
I will never know for fact.
I once stepped beyond the pale
To find out what I missed;
It only was a different veil
Of the same hellish mist.
Missteps made half purposefully
Brought horror to them all;
Yet still the only path I see
Going forward, is to fall.
I try to be tyrannical
My grip fails me even so
One tiny sabbatical
And everything is free to go
The rebels, philosophical
Citing things they do not know
Think it philanthropical
To open cages to the snow.
I am a friend to monsters,
And so perhaps you’ll come to see:
If my friends are only monsters,
You can be no friend to me.
I can’t battle the presumption
Carried in my words
That I’m not a channel for destruction
That I’m not better left unheard
I can’t drown out little whispers
Wearing my own voice
When I always chose my battle’s victors
And it was never the right choice.
I see you happy and it kills me
I see you happy and I know
You never needed me
Who am I without you, though?
I’m miserable and you’ll never see
Would it kill you to know?
I only wanted you not to see
I never meant to go.
We are warned away from love
For the broken and the damned
For though we offer all we ought
They can only bite our hand
And we never should be caught
By the beauty of a beast
For there is no such thing as fairy tales
Only the diner and the feast.
There’s no one for me to write about
There’s just “me,” “myself,” and “I”s
And if there’s a “you” it never is
Someone generous and wise
So maybe I should write about
The people that are true
Because whatever else I tell myself
There are such people — and they’re you.
I am to you what you were to me:
A means, never an end
There are worse things that I could be
But that’s a poor excuse to be friends
I still wonder if you think of me
A tired thought, so oft repeated
And if we’re warned off who we want to be
It doesn’t matter who we needed
Friendship is no reliable thing
And more, is even less
So if I’m not ready for anything
What I’m doing here I cannot guess
Wicked and wild
Ready and unwilling
Every chance defiled
Tearing after the unfulfilling
Cold and hungry child
Hiding from the tilling.