there’s more than meets the eye.

A long time ago,

back when my arms dripped red,

and my face lost color,

and I was so close to death,

I stared right into the eyes

of the devil himself.

He had eyes of black

and a soul that oozed

pain and angst and anger.

His chest was open and gaping,

void where his heart should’ve been,

and his mind was filled

with nothing but chaos and anarchy.

His arms dripped red

and his face held no color.

I could feel the hurt he felt

and I could sympathize with his loneliness.

I could understand that the turmoil he faced

made him who he is today.

He did not ask to be hated

or to look the way he does,

but the world turned him into this.

They pushed and pulled,

wounded and weakened,

maimed and mutilated,

sabotaged and saddened.

They try to make us into perfect people,

and the ones that obey are praised,

but the ones who fail to meet their expectations

are forgotten and hated.

This was his story.

He was a failure by society’s standards,

forgotten by the world

and hated by himself,

and he was looking back at me.

 

A long time ago,

when I looked straight into the eyes

of the devil himself,

I was standing in front of a mirror.
– m.f.

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