I do.
It was supposed to be an unbreakable bond.
To my dismay, it became nothing but a binding chain.

At first it was the most beautiful thing in the world.
She was the moth.
I was the flame.
Then I said, “I do” and everything changed.

I once picked roses for her.
Now it seems her heart has begun to wither.
She pledged to be forever by my side.
Now it seems I am but a thorn in hers.

Having lost my true love, I’ve no reason left to live.
So, I used this rope to free me from the chain.
Feel free, I do.

For her I’d give anything.
To the end of the Earth I’d pursue her.
With her I’d trust my life.
For her I’d give my life.

But what if she loves another?
A mere shell of a man I’d become.
My heart would shatter should hers not be mine.

Within me she summons two beings.
The first is the beautiful yet dangerous Love.
The second is a child born from Love.
The second is Envy.

Love is like a blooming rose.
Or at least that’s what they tell me.
I once held that rose.
I swore I would nurture it forever.

Sadly, it was blown away.
Its petals now watered by another.
To the bar I go, in an attempt to drown my sorrow in liquor.
Shot after shot, reality fades away.
A drunken fantasy takes its place.

I thought I’d found a rose like the one I once cherished.
When I sobered, I realized it was but a drunken bloom.

You, you’re just a piece of paper in my pocket.
That’s all right?
No, you’re much more than that.
I love you.

I love you because you put clothes on my back.
I love you because you give me a shelter from the elements.
I love you because you put food on my family’s table.
Despite all you do for me, I still hate you.

I hate you because of the bloodshed you’ve caused.
I hate you because of the souls you’ve corrupted.
I hate you because people will do anything for you.
I hate you because I can’t live without you.

So, you aren’t just a piece of paper in my pocket.
You’re a life-saving blessing yet an unstoppable destructive curse.
Whoever would’ve imagined paper cuts so deep?

Imperative it is that my true face remain hidden.
For eternity my identity must remain a mystery.
Externally I display composure.
Internally exists a warzone.

Can I ever live without this mask?
Until I become like everyone else it seems.
My status as the odd one causes constant ridicule.
Be it my interests, mannerisms, or appearance, it’s always something.
Pointing and laughing are the only forms of acknowledgement I receive.
Apparently different is taboo.

I look forward to a day when acceptance becomes normality.
Maybe then I can take off this mask.
I may then be worth something to this world.
Until then, I must preserve this façade.