This person is not one I love,

They may be one I detest,

But even so,

I’d walk alongside them atop thorns.

They hold ever present flaws,

Countless difficulties,

And a freight of abnormalites.

They cannot love, incapable of it.

They hate, susceptible to it.

They think only of themselves,

And are called out on it.

To gaze into the eyes,

Is to gaze into the soul.

And my soul is an inferno,

Swirling ablaze with hate,

Fear,

Doubt,

And the like.

So when I walk beside this person,

Over the sharp and painful path,

I know they think the same of me,

As I do them.

Because we are mirrored,

A reflection of the other,

They are just stepping over grass,

While I am feeling glass.

Leaving a trail of blood,

And they leave a trail of tears.