The parallelism between the two axioms - “Misery loves company” and “Familiarity breeds contempt” is so ironic.

After hours and days of hollowness, you stare at your reflection in the mirror and all you want to do is sit with the misery of your own skin and absorb it in. Your rotting self is the only comfort you cling to against the depravity of your world. To mistake the shadows as night just because the moon was obscured by clouds of loathing. Sleeping soundly despite the empty echoes the heart's chamber holds.

Then you make the mistake of staring too long and that is when the image starts to seem contemptuous because you notice the bruises that were hidden under the moonlight 'till now. The sockets where the eyes should be held nothing but animosity towards themselves. The wounds show themselves in the shadows held deeply by the mirror of detachment. Notice it profusely bleeding.

The comfort is gone forever and the crimson truth is eternal.