You know, I don't get you. I've been watching you for years, waiting for you to make a move. You always flinched like you wanted to... no, you flinched like someone threatened to crack your skull. Like someone wanted to drink in all the pink-gray ichor that made you worth anything. I know you like to-do lists, military rations, and hardcover, hardcore teen romance novels. And you haven't quite figured out that people are so easily broken. But there's just one thing you've got to understand. You're in over your head. You're doing so darn much. Donating more money than you have to every "charitable" scam you can think of, donating more time than you have to some little old grandmother who doesn't have any at all, donating every meal to the devil, even if he can't taste it, and can only give you hell in return. You know, I saw them pin you against the wall asking you why you had to rat them out, you little goody two-shoes. You didn't even stick one of those shoes between his legs. It was the only time a secret rattled around in your mouth. And yet, secrets spill from your lips still. But they're not gossipy secrets. You want people to see you in the mirrors and lights, not on the covers because you were under the covers. You want people to know you, to love you, but not to fear you. I see you all the time, red eyes glowing in the mirror, one tear falling for every person who ever believed in you, ever thought you just might make it. But if you succeeded, then you'd be a trophy to them, a deer head on the wall. Maybe that's why you don't collect stamps anymore. You know that they'll only value you enough to ship yourself to Alaska. They won't even know where that is. I won't even be able to find you then. You'll be a new man, with a perfectly black slate, No white purity to your name. You'll be all alone. No mirrors, no prized antlers, no red smears on the bricks. You'll be off the hook, off the wall, but somehow more sane than the rest of us. But those stamps? You stuck them to the headboard, because your walls had too many Superman posters Superglued there by your mother. And yet those little rectangles that got to see the world still ended up in the trash. I see the circles under your eyes, one for every goal you've worked toward until 3 AM. And you should probably know that you've been wasting your time. It does no good for you to show people your stitchery, poetry, or do-re-mi. Because, unfortunately, they are not impressed. They're intimidated, afraid. It doesn't matter if you were kind enough to keep your secrets, your cloudy wine, to throw away the love notes. They still wish you would shut up, maybe go drown yourself...to just leave. And I think you should get off their backs, and back onto the wall. That's where you see yourself, where the tears fall for your supporters. And you and I finally see eye to eye, meet face to face. And you wish upon the stars, throw the salt over your shoulder, and tell me, "Mirror, mirror on the wall...I'm the fairest one of all." And you go out into the world, shut the door behind you, and I'll wait to see you again. (hide spoiler)]
Dead Eyes By Vyanni