This is a profession of the sins inside me and all the things I often hide.

I could use your body as a decoration and my world would look pretty…at least it would to my own eyes. There is disappointment waiting in my conscience, little points that matter less. I could fill your hours with the things you hate to hear and share the detail of distress. Not that there is nothing sweet that I am offering, not that there is nothing bright. Just that it is shadowed by the regrets I’ve wallowed in and being light just doesn’t seem right.
There are many regrets to be found in a present and the present isn’t always desired. There can be a hope dashed or a secret unmasked and it can leave you so dead tired. The essence of the sad one runs deep with their self-pity, regretful for what they have not. And all the precious fair times, slim inside of their minds, are too sacred to be given out. It’s not the joy they shout. They will share their horror, make up more for tomorrow, throw a plea to make you console. Take what they are given and twist it in their prison minds, return it molested and soiled.
But why not take their essence, see it as a present, surprise them by accepting with thanks? Twist it as they do ours, change all of these bad parts, give it back as golden things? Compassion is no virtue if it is applied true. Compassion is compulsion used. I’ll spare some of my self pity for the pain you give me and hand a spot of rest back to you.
Portrait of the dark eyes, casting glances at skies, rolling as you tell your tale. These are empty people, neither good nor evil, caught up in their own betrayal. Of their essence and of their lives, they feel sadder than you could surmise. And it’s the truth, at least in their minds. Everybody has a reason to cry. Everybody thinks it’d be relief to die. But what about someone who needs that pain inside? Share the wealth, it just might help. You want to die? I need you alive. It starts with birth, you do have worth. Never need to see it, just trust it and believe it, but if it helps to understand: when it all seems hopeless and like the world could care less, I hear your story and you restore me. Thank you for the present of essence.