"the cynic with the bloody hands"

Wasn't going to post cuz i know there's an overflow of poems on the board right now, but oell. I've just been in a really poor mindset today, and here's what's come out. Not really fond of it but... maybe one of the most brutally honest piece i've ever written. Comments/etc appreciated.

"the cynic with the bloody hands"

I tell you i believe in so little
so little good in the world
so little beauty
that comes without pain
so little truth that does not
scream in vain
well, let me tell you
what i still believe in.
I still believe in nightmares
and in facing the appropriate
direction while sleeping
i believe in the inability of
existence of a sanctity of family,
i believe in the betrayal of innocence,
i believe that in a perfect world
innocence might still exist,
i believe in the child in the closet still
screaming though her captor
is years gone down the road
will never grow up, trapped in the self stasis of self hatred
I still believe that anxiety can kill
for every beat my heart skips i lose
10 seconds of my life
i believe that this sickness rising in me
will haunt me forever,
and i can't get to a black or a white,
i believe in eternal shades of grey
i believe in the ease with which one blames
oneself before blaming someone who
should have loved you and did not
i believe that all people are secret monsters
and that i am one of them
i believe in the fever which tears at my skin
and the tears which corrode my eyes
and i believe in the destructiveness of the memory of
a tainted child's cries,
the scars other people give us and the scars we give ourselves,
those that can be seen and those who are kept eternally hidden
rotting scraps of decayed innocence.
These things are what i believe in,
what i've been shown of life
you can't expect me to overcome this all
in the blink of an eye
I can't help but try and protect now
the most precious things of mine
and if i said i ever thought i'd recover
i think that'd i'd be lying
if you want to love me,
you've got to understand the waste in my head,
you've got to see the agony that i've lived by
have to know some how that it
isn't that i don't trust you it's that
i don't trust life.
i believe that these wounds festering in me
may never heal again
but if you want, i'll still let you
hold my bloody hand.