I Say You, But I Mean Me

I call you out on all your faults and your terrible misdeeds, while executing my assault you trample under the stampede. I tell you that you’re a fool and not a beautiful one at that. My damn stupidity fuels aimed guns and brutal combat. I make you carry all my regrets, because I’m a bitter soul; I view you as my biggest threat and at Christmas I give you coal. All my anger needs a compass since it lands in the wrong direction, but I rather feel the numbness than the pain from the correction. I watch you burn at the stake, limbs engulfed by flames. It’s better than watching me break and reliving that solitary shame. I can never say why I act this way, I’m just hoping you’ll accept the blame since you are some pathetic prey in my sad self-loathing game. By: Chelsea P. Stone