Innocent people do not run. 

They have no reason. 

They do not hide.

They have no cause. 

You once asked me why you drew the emotionally damaged. 

I was wrong in my answer. 

They come to you because you want them to, 

Because you hold onto your own damage, refusing to repair it. 

You ran from one you call a psycho, 

But you only ran to other ones, 

And you seem to have no clue how many others you harbor. 

You think them great people, it’s true, 

Confusing the warning signs for something good, good for you.

What you think of as “nice,” as “good,” as “respectful,” is a canard. 

They wear their illness on their faces but you see it not, 

Though it’s clear to see, as they wear a placard.

But no! I think you know exactly what they are, for they are just like the one you gave yourself to, 

And you invited them in … instead of despise. 

Are you a psychopath dear? Is it true? 

You have never recanted your lies. 

You think it of me, but you were she who faked everything, 

And I only responded out of pain. 

The illness is not in the nature of the response but the motive, 

And my motive was always honest, more honest than any ring. 

Theirs isn’t and never will be. 

Do you feign damsel in distress? 

You are surrounded by them … and you let them in. 

You think them your friends when they do not have real friends, but act friendly,

They do not want real friends, nor know what friendship is, 

Though they feign it, as you did. 

They use, manipulate, and throw away. 

You are trash to them, as I was trash to you and remain so to this day, 

Though they won’t admit it until they’ve used you up. 

Are your motives ever honest … ever? 

Innocent people do not run. 

Innocent people do not hide. 

You do both, and lie on, 

Will not admit you were wrong. 

You are not innocent, 

Only unpunished by the corrupt of soul. 

But why do you keep them, the psychos, the sociopaths, the vain, the ugly, the grotesque? 

You know I am right about them. They do not hide it, as their cliche facades of normalcy give them away.

No one is that “good,” dear.

No one that righteous, that pious, that nice. 

Too good to be true is precisely that. 

Are you incapable of protecting yourself or only looking to repeat the past? 

Or do you wish to use them in mutuality? 

They did not choose you. You chose them, alas. 

And you keep them knowing what they are. 

When you fall and they hurt you, degrade you, leave you flailing in emotional gore, 

Remember that you are as guilty as they but more. 

They are what they are and you know it. 

But you allowed it … you allowed it.