My letter to anyone and noone who reads it

….(Inhale)….

I can feel you judging me, but
I'll hear your confessions.

Here I am.
Open.
Vulnerable.
For you
to feed on
whatever you need.

Take all of me,
(if that's what you need )
to grow.

..I know you're still judging me.
I sense it.
But,
I play dumb.
I play numb.

I stay intense,
away
from reality.
So subtle in my
casualties.
In my self destructions
and recreational resurrections.
And silent,
in my passive murders
of your
dirty mirrors.

I kill what makes you less pretty
(If only you knew this, maybe you could see me)

I read you.
Then, I eat
your dark energy alive, rather than feed it
like
a passionate,
pretty,
parasite.
Then, I digest your diseases for you,
(as you stare at the remains)
so that you can name the remedies for yourself.
I’ll only judge you,
if you choose to stay the same.
Because you see,
my greed, my need,
lies in breeding beauty
from your pain.
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IF YOU’VE BEEN APATHETIC THIS WHOLE TIME, PLEASE REMOVE YOUR EYES BEYOND THIS POINT.
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…..(Exhale)….
My mind is a blue room full of burning mirrors,
There is where, I reherse my confessions
(Sisters, forgive me, for I have sinned)

Your ears are distant from me.
(I understand why; I am disguised and it’s just not natural to listen that closely)
but as a child my stomach was filled with needles and butterflies.

And my mouth was at war with my mind.
I cried,
out of my desire to speak
out of my forced silence,
out of my affairs with secrecy
(and my ache to be ignorant,
to keep my thoughts stagnant).
I wanted to pry my eyes from my mind
to eat the monsters that speak in tongues of memory alive.

Hissing
in careful syllables at the sky
Asking why I couldn’t be them.
(Why I couldn’t be like you.)
Why
I
had to learn how to teach myself
how to make my pain pretty
how to interpret all the insane imagery that invaded me
during every single spec of time that immobilized me
especially at night.

Then I decided to purge my insides.
(And they always manage to spill
so sticky out my attempt to shun pity
but still stay pretty.)

Silently kissing my wounds on an island of perfect silhouettes and angelic voices, I split
my Self in two to be my own savior,
(so that I could save Her.)
and be right enough to help you.

Innocently rotting,
plotting my escape from reality every day.
And wearing a smile coated in sugar and lipstick
for anyone else who needed to vent.

I pretended that my cries were silly.
That I was only one hurting me,
(Because that’s what She said)
so that I could stay perfect
like a sick, stoic
statue.
I kept my eyes like dry ice in the public eye
fearing I would suddenly melt
into
thick black oil
and stain my perfect skin
that somehow turned red every now and then
from all the secret letters I wrote to my sanity on my skin,

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To: Pretty
From: Parasite
“Sorry I couldn’t help you last night, I got into a fight
inside a glass house with Her again.
I was sure you would be fine without
me this time.”
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….(Inhale)….

You don’t have to understand my pain,
I just need to make it pretty.
I’ve learned that I can’t destroy my demons
But I can name them.
I can tame them
Train them, to paint
A self portrait of your pain.

Sincerely your escape,
- Empathy