You Aren’t 

You say this city-state is full

of people who are twisted,

deviants of one kind 

or another,

afflicted in the mind with

some disorder.

You aren’t wrong.

You claim you are above that.

It’s true that if you crawl 

long enough

in the social underbelly of this

culture, you comprehend

how far into the maw you step,

that abyssal space between

idyllic and grotesque.

We step through, willingly,

daring that entity inside us

to come out, and play.

You claim that you are not one.

You’re normal.

But you cannot step through,

and be normal.

Don’t you see this is a respite?

Most of us are running from

loss of loved ones, or

seeking to add something 

interesting into their life.

Sometimes this place is home,

drenched with nostalgia,

sentimentality in every trinket

you wear,

and other times it is a foreign land,

interesting, but cold, detached 

from memory.

Let me weave you into my tapestry,

displayed above my mantle,

tracing the times our stories

crossed, and what it brought.

You are just as broken

as the rest of us.

Revel in the beauty of 

what you won’t say you see.