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People would ask me what is it that I do best and they're looking for answers they wanted to hear —something about hope happiness and positivity— things I know I'm not cut out for
People would ask me who I am and what I represent and they're looking for answers they want more of —someone about peace dreams, and success— people I know I am not nor would ever be
People would ask me questions that would define who I am to their meager minds —they recoil when I say the things I do best are despair, hopelessness, negativity— things that wouldn't help anyone except drown them in their own fears
People would ask me who I am that would set how much distance they're willing to put between us —they run away when I say that I am truth without all the sweetness, death without any mask, and the void without the fall needed to reach the bottom —things that show the soul what it lacked and what it didn't become
People would ask me who I am and what I do best —and I answer— I am dread, I am death Dying and putting myself back together without stitches —these things I do best
