A poem for those who never say anything positive,and other
terrorist minds.

I know you,
you, who claws at the souls
of others, to make them feel
what you feel, raw and bleeding
from this pain deep within,
from where,
you, who can shelter no one,
spews venom, pus,
bits and pieces of scar tissue
peeled off by the mind,
to make me notice.

For me to scream with you,
cry for you, feel like you,
over the tragedy
of lived mediocrity.
This then,the only way
to express the wounded self,
dipping me into your abyss.

I know this ugliness,
this blindness, reared by pain,
with which you reach for me.
In the end, all there can be
is this,
is this, because my heart
whispers to me,
past emotions, past revulsion,
deep at my own, healed, center,
only this:
You are my brother.