I have this fear that I will eat you up and spit you out. I believe that I have all tis love living inside of me. I’ve convinced myself that it has created a home. It has found shelter in something bright, something pure. Yet, since when has it been possible to find beautiful flowers in a field of weeds? There is a darkness that has made a home beneath the shield of my skin. It sits, it ferments, and it rots. It has begun to take another form, something besides itself. It has created life, and it now breathes. When I act, it is often the darkness trying to escape. When I breathe, the only thing I take in is this polluted air, and I can only assume that I spoil all things around me. Please don’t love me. I like to believe that I can be good for someone. I like to play house in the empty corners of my mind, but the emptiness doesn’t always last, forcing those pretty thoughts into places they belong. My head isn’t one of those places. When I imagine a beautiful life, I see you and me dancing in the rain, smiling, moving along to a soundtrack of our own that rose out of love. When the lights turn on, there is only sadness left. There’s only me and rotting flesh because none of that can ever be of existence. Darkness stays quiet, it lies like rug, and waits. It laughs at your aloof state of mind, making sure to trip you when you seem to forget the true nature of your being. I have this fear that this will always be. I’d like to be different, but I’m not sure that’s entirely possible. Please don’t love me. I’ll emotionally murder you, but I promise not on purpose. These things just happen, you know. Maybe not to people like you, but when you wake to obscurity, sleep to the sound of your own insignificance, you begin to lose sight of anything else. You wait until it gets worse, and when it does, you embrace it. Nothing will ever be as dedicated to you as the hatred that lives within. It wants to be your friend, it wants to keep you. So you allow it to happen, letting yourself fall prey to a monster that can’t always be defeated. Inevitably, you become just as black. You become just as polluted. Smug. Dirty. Selfish. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you see beauty growing in a dying field.