don't hurt me,
like you did them,
don't turn me
into you
a fool who
always thought
that pain was
shared by two
but pain was bad,
pain was cunning,
and to you, it was
a vice that was kind
to me,
however, it was
never a virtue;
pain killed all
my remaining
lights
YOU ARE READING
The Faults in Utopia
PoetryThere will always be fault in the most glistening diamond castles, a witch in every Oz, a monster under every bed. But sometimes, the monster doesn't live under your bed, because sometimes, the monster lives inside you.
