Everything I touch turns to ash in my grip
I am stagnant as others grow around me
Fear, loathing, and regret are the emotions I feel the most
To keep from dragging others down I isolate
Trying to be the tragic hero
Without putting forth the effort to seek redemption
But I'm just a petty villain
Succumbing to my angst and flaunting my misery like I'm unique
I feel like I inflict pain in others, yet close my eyes to their suffering
Saying, "they don't have it as bad as me"
I lie, omit, and disguise my motives and meanings
I hide in plain sight, shallow as a puddle
But the true depth of me is a trick of the light-- a perfect refraction
My self-deprecating humor a defense mechanism I learned
I use it to pacify others, to force their eyes to glide past me
Because if someone truly looked
There'd be only a shriveled husk, withered and dessicated
Incapable of beauty, undeserving of love
Filled with bitterness and sorrow and loneliness
Incapable of progress or understanding