You cling to misery
like it's your birthright
and i marvel
at your lack of love,
pulsating
and bright
against my ability to pretend
as i stand in the corridor
between our minds -
waiting
for change.

You pose
as some kind of monster,
and i think you want to be something
darker
than you really are,
some doomed character
of a bleak poem.
but you're not
that bad.
Perhaps, you're as
average
as the rest of us,
or perhaps
the rest of us
are just
as doomed
as you.