I lost a friend last night because my poems are too dark. She said they scare her, and make her cry. She said she can feel me slipping with each verse, and that she'd enjoy them if they were written by a stranger she never loved.
She said she feels her heart going out to me but she had to pull it back because she needs to keep it for herself, so she can see though her own issues.
No one ever stays because once they see me naked of my walls they stare into my sheltered world and see things that would make even the Earth cringe.
It's too late to destroy it, because my thoughts have evolved into a race of beings far more powerful than myself. They'll be the death of me, but their empires will stand long after I'm gone, before my time.
But every once and a while I can hear one or two of them praying to me, begging for me to bring peace to this world inside my head that I have no control over. They don't realize that I'm not a god, and that their whole existence is nothing but the product of years of abuse from a universe they cant comprehend, that I can't comprehend.
So I sit nailed to the couch, suffering for their sins while pointlessly checking my phone for a text from that friend that says βI'm sorryβ