I want my sadness to be recognized, not criticized.

For once, someone to care enough to try & look at life through my two eyes.

Put themselves in my shoes, try understand my disguise.

Finally realizing that everyday they prohibit small lies, too small to analyze.

Too inaccurate to correct though they accept the pain.

Exact same way I would. They struggle; refuse it, they know they should.

It comes back & the second time is just as good, or perhaps better.

Though the better, the worse.

It is a curse that horrifies me, blinds me, swallows me whole until I've lost all control.

& for what?

After they are blinded by my mind; shaken by my fear, trying so hard to tear away the role they have set out to play.

Intertwine in locked confines of a hellish crown that keeps you drowned.

They thought it'd be easily to play the role of me.

Now we will both bleed.

I did not mean to. I do not want to hurt you. "I could play you any day". You're in the same damn criticizing cycle as mine. I am sorry forgive me, how strange is this that now I am the one apologizing. I know I should not have suggested something so cruel & defaming as feeling overly caring, emotions sprawling among the damned. I have infected you & I am so sorry. I am no different than a wolf that hunts in the night. You are my result of a losing fight & I am sorry that I burn everything I touch with broken hands that have forgotten how to love, & I am sorry that I could never be good enough.

Listen to me, I am an infectious disease, though I may heal when the fall comes.

I won't wither in winter forever, I will get better.