Make No Mistake

Make no mistake.

I am no saint.

 

My morals are skewed.

I have sadistic points of view.

 

While my loyalty is unwavering,

My commitment is situational.

I cannot trust others more than I trust myself;

And I don’t trust me – so that doesn’t help.

 

Sadness consumes me even when I smile.

Anger burns in my lungs…

…The hatred is vacantly vile.

 

I don’t know what I want even when I do.

I think this feeling is irritation, but I think I could also love you.

Or, even if I think I love you, it could just be manipulation.

A passive aggressive resignation to something I don’t want.

Or, who knows, maybe I do.

I know no better than you.

 

I think my fatal flaw – simply – is that I’m too curious.

And in perfect sync – what I don’t know makes me furious.

I need to experience things that intrigue me or capture my heart.

Even if they make me ugly inside – even if they make me unappealing.

If I don’t taste the sin then I’m left reeling – and I’d rather be seen as horrible.

I’d rather be seen as something faithless than adorable.

The pain of knowing is better suffered than the pain of not.

The pain of knowing is worth everything that I may have never got to enjoy.

 

So make absolutely no mistake.

I may be as darling as they come,

But I am as evil as any demon ever was;

Make no mistake.

 

Make no mistake.

 

I am literally anything but a saint.

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