Angst

When I look in the mirror it's like a whole other game. I sometimes see potential a human perhaps. I see me. It's for little want I am, and I look at her and I feel pain. I want to make it alright, but to believe a concious at all is a daydreamy sight. Other times I see a vapour, non-existent or repugnant beyond belief. I console myself not to look and imagine my features else where for relief. When I look in the mirror I want people to see the side I'm coming from, I'm so sad and I truly believe I'm the runt of the bunch. But why does everyone else have to think so too? Can't you love me, the way I prospect to love you? What is it about me, why am I born this way? And worse still how could I be designed inside so difficult too? I'm eccentric sure, I like to be too, I feel right and happy until I catch a glimpse in a mirror, a stare from a stranger- the reflection in their eyes. How can I be so little, when to me I am the centre of this repulsive little life? I am not vain I just know that this is me and all I ever venture to be will be of the same consequence. When all that is dear to me shall go freafully I shall be the experienced. How can you hate a soul you have no eyes to see in. Why condemn when you can listen?