I paint my flaws with all your criticisms and for some reason, I feel so close to you. I tilt my head at all your anger, wondering if did anything to set you off. You shout and you scream, so why do I still find you sweet as strawberries? I smirk with superiority but I shatter inside, for I have no one else to bestow happiness on me, I only have those that distract from sadness. I paint everything black, because only in darkness can I see. The tea has been placed on the porcelain table and I fear sitting alone. I wonder if you caught me again, but I have stopped caring. I can’t help but become immune with every war, but I am scared that eventually I won’t feel anything anymore.