babies cry when they’re born,
it's a good thing actually
counterintuitive to what we would assume
a sign they’re healthy and ready for the world
my father likes to joke and say “they cry because they realize they’re born into an evil world”
there was a seed inside of me
festering, eating away at the insides of my brain
a hoarse, childish voice admonishing me because of my guilt
any mistake i would do, amplified tenfold
the inventor of the mirror poisoned my heart
my reflection embodied the hoarse voice, and everything was my fault
a tragedy, a family attacked and robbed in their homes by intruders
why did i picture myself as the victim and the perpetrator
i think i was ****** up
at a lake as a child, i threw a rock into the empty water
a head surfaced, and the rock struck them
they still don’t know it was me
an accident really, but its like i took the rock, with droplets of blood on it
stains that even the lake can’t remove
and i swallowed it whole
cutting my insides as it resided in my stomach
my acid isn’t strong enough to disintegrate it
i cried alot as a child, so much so that i think i have no more tears left
an empty reservoir, if i could cry blood i would
just to have that same sensation again, that comfort
i didn’t believe that i was deserving of good things
my life, permeated by these thoughts
maybe i have an obsession with martyrs
everyone wants their life to mean something
maybe i want to have a cause so badly, to make up for some sin
some trouble i got into as a fetus
whatever you want to call it, bad karma, a reincarnated fascist dictator
i owe it to my soul, to my spirit, and to myself as a child
maybe i’ll sacrifice myself to destroy every mirror on earth
only in ponds would you be able to see yourself
hoarse voices are muted in water.