The Kebilsphere

Oh, how I wear my stigma, my stigmata, on my too tight skin, this canvas in which I am wrapped, abandoned by the artist before the first stroke of the brush. I am different and marked as such, marked and distinguishable by the colouring of invisible ink
These mental marks of distinction (degradation)(derision), this symbol burnt into my bone,

I AM NOT ONE OF YOU.

Step back, back away. I may have some evil alien infection that I could spread to the crowd with one careless cough.

These marks of my shame I hide from the outside world. And yet, these invisible marks shine through my skin in the very worst ways during my most awful days.
A crown of thorns that I wear ‘neath my cap. Nobody worries if they can’t see you bleed, if they don’t notice as you recede.

Everybody is so
quick to forget the pain of others, pain deep in their hearts.
And those cries for help, ignored for so long,
eventually spark a flame to set a fire to burn us all
We are all just self centered creatures of brutality.

I am no better than anybody else.
A slice into skin, a razor`s kiss, a deafening roar of self defeat

Minced meat,
mincing words,
break the news gently
breaking bread with myself
breaking my heart all over again
Man cannot live on bread alone
Man cannot live by himself, alone

And how I wish I could read my mind. I think if I knew what I was thinking, then maybe, just maybe, I would be able to get the better of myself.
Or maybe I could get better myself
That is all I really my wish

As it is, I just settle for whatever part of my mind I can get these days.