The Rose's Thorns

I'm ugly.

My darkest intentions surface revealing a side of me

so vile and deceitful- hidden behind the ginger smile

I perform with day by day.

Woven in a web of insecurities I no longer know which

is my true face;

the altruistic smile that welcomes one with empathy, or

the apathetic gaze cast away from society.

The pain keeps growing.

I hate having periods of joy because what follows are always

stages of inescapable chaos rapping at my brain

telling me to, “Die…die…DIE” as my chest aches.

I invision plunging a knife into my body,

slamming my hand against my flesh as the image plays out

within my mind, consuming me.

Almost wishing I bled out despite it being imaginary.

Truthfully, I don't believe anyone could love this side of me.

I'm too broken; too far gone.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm psychotic and

sometimes I wonder if I'm a sociopath.

Where did my emotions go? Did I even feel them in the first place?

I'm trapped in silence hidden by a habitual mask

that never comes off when I'm around someone.

When was the last time I let myself shut down around someone?

They'd call me a monster; deranged.

I can't bare to witness the look of pain and horror upon

someone's gaze when they see me at my lowest.

I can't even scream anymore.

“I'm fine."

My emotions are so muddled I no longer can tell when

that's the truth and when it's a lie.

Yet, those words roll off my tongue like a placating lullaby.

I want others to shower me in their darkness so that I can

experience them whole, yet when it's my turn,

it's as though the pain vanished, locked up somewhere deep and hidden.

I am such a hypocrite.

I'm ugly.

I am the thorns on a rose bush that prick and ensnare

causing people to back away warily.

Yet, all I let them see are my roses.

How truly despicable of me.