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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