I can't read too much at once
I might just break under the pressure of keeping it together
Together for whom, I don't know.
The screen perhaps?

You convey your pain so vividly
That it literally makes me ache.
Cringing at the accuracy of your words,
Wincing at the connections I make between your art and your life.
It pains me to feel you in pain.

Maybe I just notice you too much but I know who
and what
and when you're talking about.
Her, mostly, but I try not to read those.

But the other creations are utterly beautiful
In a tragic sense, though I suppose art never comes from happiness.
But what is happiness without a little pain?
An illusion
And oh, my dear, you capture this concept like an animal entrapped in a snare.
You make your message *inescapable