Dealing With a Damaged Person

You have no shape

but you're not beautiful like water

you're definitely soft

but in the same sense as a tumor

You feed on the honest

because they've presented themselves directly

You prefer the shadows, and a projector

playing reel after reel of

everything you know yourself to be

but are too terrified to admit

for fear that you would break

down in total self-loathing

hatred, and rejection.

In a way, I almost feel

sorry for you.

But in the same way that

my empathy is mitigated

for the thrashing viper caught in a machine

trying to strike those who would

save it — I give up.

The only way to

save myself is to recognize

there is no hope when it

comes to you.