Pour Out

The jaded were once good.

It’s a sight to see, it’s a common but non-casual event.

To be the one to rip yourself open, as a way to not fall apart. To watch and know, to want to help. Seeing a person close to the edge and wishing to pull them back.

A single person can change someone’s life, but a single person is just a single bit of good in a drowning pit of hateful tar.

It reminds me of myself, in my own black pond. Ready to lash out, thrashing just makes it worse.

A shame to watch, a shame to know. People who’ve lost their minds laugh the very most.

Brings me to tears, proves to myself I actually care. I however spill my guts to keep from falling apart. So I can feed on the hearts of others who pour them out for me to know.

If I fill my tar pit with bodies I collect, I might just escape my own pit of death… Doesn’t really mean I win.