a kind cynic

i’m not completely sure why, but it seems as if my tastes delve further and further into darkness as i get older. perhaps it is the cruelties of the world that has jaded my hopelessly romantic disposition; perhaps it is my way of saying fuck you right back. i feel myself drawn to evil; amused and titillated. but only to a certain degree. as i feel myself drawing darkness into my soul, i also feel myself wanting to send out more light. i find myself wanting to protect the few good things out there, guard them with my life. i want to remind people that you’re supposed to be good, because i feel like everything out there is telling us it’s okay not to be. it’s a dog eat dog world. you have to kill to survive. i know that’s how it is, but we make it so. i want to tell people to look into the mirror, and then ask themselves who the real threat is. i want to tell myself to do exactly that. i don’t believe the answer is to just forget it and give and give and give. because you will get crushed out there. but don’t just take. try not to make it worse.



i stood in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, as the absence of light from the burnt out lightbulb veiled my face. i stared into my own eyes, seeing darkness and darkness only. and as i felt the weight of my own invisible stare, fear crept along the edges of my reflection. the abyss gazed back. who knew what i was when i was not to be seen? a freak. an untouchable freak. i stumbled back, a step one two three four, and scratched at the door, grappling to push it open. light streamed in, and black turned to grey. the lines reappeared, and the void was silhouetted once more. i could still feel its eyes on me. in my irises, on my neck. it lingers. still.