Something.

I think there is something
deep inside of me
that thrives in misery
and withers in the glory of the sun.
I guess I should be worried,
but truthfully it makes me smile.
I like knowing I can laugh
and no other voices rise to join mine,
I like that I can see a form
and have it twist from every side
and see beauty never seen before.
I enjoy the fact that imperfection is astounding
therefore allowing me to love and wish to save
man.
I love that I am so different from them,
A liar, a writer, a hypocrite
the lover and hater of man.
This thing tosses and tears at the inside
wishing to be released
in a wicked smile or a few choice words,
whatever illustrates it on the faces of friends and foes alike.
It's a confusing thing, these aimless thoughts
I withhold most of my words just in case
but the beauty of it all is
some part of me understands just why
man is so damned miserable.