Poetry has never been my forte, but years ago during a persistent episode of demonic darkness I decided to take up my pen to release my mind. As the words started flowing, I found myself writing in rhyme.

Afterwards my heart was filled with dread. The words didn’t look right, yet they captured the feeling I have always struggled to convey when down. The endless cycle of guilt. The irony. The feeling of isolation, of being sucked into a numbing void parallel to functioning society. The many I’m alrights to avoid losing friends.  Perhaps finding a way to share that is more important than whether the poem flows right. 

The Liar

I wish I would not have to lie

so that those I love

feel better


They will ask me to talk

in conversation

or letter


To share the burden

of being trapped

in a low


But as I unveil the darkness

it is silent discomfort

their eyes show


Exposing internal destruction

is undesirable in a society

that lives on a high


People can’t bear soul pain,

so I have no choice

but to lie.


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