The carvings on their arm were the output of
betrayal. Yours of unhealthy obsession. Others came along;
one comes from loneliness, the other from loss, and you
no longer feel estranged.

In fact, you are welcomed
in the society of deranged and uncouth.

The razor blade in your suit pocket
doesn't seem too dangerous compared to their
bleach, venom, and firearm.

You felt your existence became the very dawn of you;
the immoral depiction of Faustian love,
the very one