|Last of my Kind Still Standing|
Book 3: Entry 2
I feel like such a liar most of the time. People perceive me in the polar opposite way I perceive myself. I guess that makes it more of a matter of perception that an out-and-out lie. But when I try to tell them "I'm not the guy you think I am", they laugh it off. I warn them: "I'm violent. I'm disturbed. Don't look at me like that; just run!" They think I'm kidding or that I'm over-exaggerating. And I suppose I would never intentionally hurt them, but inevitably, "everything I touch, I break", as the Stabbing Westward song goes. And then there is always that incredulous look of "how could you do this to me" and all I can say is: "I warned you, did I not? But you didn't listen."
It leads me to alienate them (or maybe it's "alienate myself from them"), hence this lovely new journal that they know nothing of. I hide here, partly hoping they will see it, realize who it is and realize that I'm trying to save them, and partly hoping these words are never found, never seen and that they stay close, all the while hoping "this time will be different".
Now a bit of free verse:
I sheer off the flesh to try and see the soul long since faded.