I write mostly for acceptance
That much is true
But mostly it is
To escape

My kind is a terrible place
Dark business
Unproclaimed and without much ado
Scarred by Evils omnipresence

While they write of love that is true
I write of darkness’ admittance
Despite its bitter aftertaste
I never seek repentance

If everything you touch turns to gold
and everything I touch turns to ash—
then together
we will sit upon our thrones
of riches and ruin
and make the world bow at our feet.

I sway with the trees through my window
Ivy climbs up the bark
I play with the leaves through my window
A wind gusts through the night

Branches pick me up and play with my curls
They giggle and set me down
The trees have taken me from my window
Soot and sap covers my gown

I look back up at my window
The ivy has shallowed my room
Their leaves and poison look down through my window
Singing their gleeful tunes

I try to climb back to my window
The forest plants me in the ground
I sway with the trees staring up at my window
My window... my window...

"--they're too happy
to have to deal with my problems."

In truth, you like the Pain.
You like it because you believe you deserve it.

-it's the ones that seem to love themselves the most,
that actually love themselves the least.