Witness. A word simply defining an outline of my sanity’s dissolvement. To witness myself fall apart. My memories fade until it feels like a fantasy I decided to terror myself with. THE FEAR i face when I remember the way I was mutilated. Distrust lines the foundation of my experiences to face anyone. Malice is prominent when love’s eyes lie sights upon the destructive heartbeat I taste. Metal in my blood bleeds onto the handle that slices its way into my skin. The skin splits when it witnesses my fear fronting understanding. He witnessed what I refused to. I couldn’t bring myself to. Maybe that’s why I feel this disconnect. The mirror shows me a pretty girl who I’d love to befriend but she is not me. I am a non-binary mess that is scattered in red and pink upon white, splotched, dirty death. She looks at me with surprise. Content? She is happy to be there. Maybe because I can’t actually reach her. But she watches me back. I do envy her, and she knows it. Tauntingly smiling the way my crow could never. He doesn’t see me like she can. Facade is our existence and I am a squirrel he wouldn’t view at realistic perspectives. Magpie didn’t either. Perhaps less so. Idolization taints our faces and
maybe the world isn’t all bad. A lot of it is but there’s hope. It’s not time yet. Don’t risk the tragedy of your being again.