Haze

You stand there at the ledge, staring down at the dark abyss below and somewhere in your mind, you're wondering if the drop would kill you enough to make it permanent. But sadly, you know it's not. You've probably already tried haven't you? Things haunt you and memories creep into your mind and settle there until you're swirling in a fog that you can't seem to escape. You want to. You clearly want to.

You look at me, with hate in your eyes—glossy and built up like you mean it—when you know you don't. It's something you give everyone and they don't know the difference, so you run with it. It kills you that I see through your glass disguise—but let's face it, you aren't really that good of a liar. In fact, you know you're probably more transparent to a person like me than you ever wish to be.

That pisses you off too doesn't it? You curse and you send me threats in the way you move. Everything you do is a threat to me. There's a lack of comprehension in your eyes for the extent of the damage you do to me. You're an infection and you've spread to every part of me until I'm enamored with you and hopeless. So now, I watch you. Everything you so and every little twitch in your façade is open to my analytic gaze.

The ledge is close at your feet and I watch you move—wanting to go forward—but you move back and drop to the solid floor and you simply walk away. How many times have you done this, Kanda? The thoughts are sitting there, etching into your brain and I can even see the scream settling on the tip of your tongue, begging for you to let it free. The agony buried in your muscles has always been waiting to come alive and you've simply balanced until the time when you'd finally lose control and shatter the eerie calm you have on the outside of you.

I stand behind you, watching you in the splintered mirror—but you can't actually see me. The blood pooling in your eyes and the blurring of your vision have left you blind to everything around you. As you mutilate your face so you don't have to see it anymore, you wonder how long it will last this time. Will you leave the washroom immaculate again?

Probably.

You always do.

Those two feet always drag you back, where you'll pretend that none of this happened and that you didn't try to kill the creature that stares back at you in the mirror. That you didn't try to erase the face that haunts your every reflection. No one can see the self loathing that you harbor as hard as you do. No one notices when you return that you'll have spots of blood still in your shirt. You know they see it as just another thing that happens when you come back from a battle. But you're not coming back from a mission this time.

The battle is all with you. You've turned into your own evil spirit and you've tried to find your own salvation. But it's obvious you're only doomed to failure.

And I just wish you would turn around. I wish you would wash the blood from your eyes and see what's been following your dark moments; silently standing in your shadow just in case you do push too far. I wish you'd notice the life jacket always ready to save you from sinking. Please. Please Kanda.

Just turn around.

You can't see it yet. It's a blind disease of mistrust or disbelief. You don't believe you're worth anyone's time, love, and energy. You're caught in a cloud, distancing you from me and I'm begging you.

Please turn around.

And notice me here.