Fear the Graffiti Artist

You stand, poised over me. All I am to you, another canvas to paint, another toxic waste dump to lay down your burdens, What am I? I am a person who feels like I’m only a listening device to you, I am a girl made to be as a brick wall, I stand there and I take it,

I am a wall, I feel every sting to my heart as your words spit onto my face, as the poison drips from your wide open fangs like Loki chained down for eternal punishment,

This is my purpose then, to listen to you rant, but to rant does you no good other than grant you the satisfaction of being the wise one, because I listen, I try to give advice, but you take my ears pointed towards you as agreement.

Do you know how much emotional baggage you put on me? Every throw-up makes me want to throw up, as poisonous fumes stain my face,

Your anger is like drinking venom, then expecting the other person to die, your hopelessness is a never ending downward spiral, taking me with you. It seems that irrationality is your middle name

One day you’re going to run out of paint, and your canvas will break. Because I’m not a brick wall, but a person, a person with feelings like you, but smarter when it comes to the self awareness, unlike your self-despairment,

I’m calling the cops on you. Graffiti is illegal in my world after all.