I Want You to Know It's Not Your Fault

There are people in the world that are just like me. They take other people's pain inside and chew on it until the rumination destroys part of their soul. They blame themselves when tragedy strikes anywhere around them. They carry a piece of the dead and dying and suffering and loneliness of all of those they love and even strangers somewhere in some shadowbox of their heart and card-catalogued in their minds and cross-referenced in their dreams.

Loneliness and pain strikes when it is least expected and anger erupts at the tiniest spark. The darkness is embraced in the name of sympathy, compassion and turns to the dust of despair and builds a monument of dripping asphalt oozing with blood.

Then so much more the agony experienced from deeds never to be undone. So exponentially more the heart-rending panic from mental flesh torn in primeval assaults of tender senses. An infant mind that cannot sort the evil from the good and from the love. Why have young minds no ability to sort the feelings of comfort from the rush of shame?

A metropolis rush hour of sensation without clear roadways or open skies. Open the floodgates and hold on and be washed with the nastiness of my soul.

My processor is corrupted. My circuits are corroded. My heart is pumping bacterial love. My programming picked up a virus and I scrambled the messages and damaged the software. The input may not have even been anything similar to what was perceived. Therefore, I want you to know that it isn't your fault. Or yours or yours or yours.