Searching for comfort and a friend
I hope I can find it in this ink
I hope I can find it in this paper
Write my confidence & strength in parchments just to save it for later
But this life gets so damn tiring
I've spent hours on end, rewiring My brain
Untangling my insecurities and conditioning my pain
To place them behind the film in my eyes
In a sadistic cycle of soaking and wringing myself dry
Too shameful to beg a God for forgiveness and in the same tone asked to be saved
I can't believe what I say
I don't believe what I pray
There has to be an evil kind of love to exist for this pain to be made
No, it had to be created
An understanding for the world gone wrong
A love for life finally faded
Or maybe not exist at all...Why ask for help?
Why talk at all
When the staccato in my voice is the break in my poems
The block for my inspiration
Sweet suicide sings softly to my persuasion
And they dance beautifully. I'm enticed by the sight,
I'm intrigued by the lie that I speak
Their concern is a fib to me
Obliged by their own self sufficient esteem to inquire when they see me stare too long
When they see me smile too hard
So when I tell them I'm okay, they don't know if their suspicions were wrong
So spare me from the 5 minute prolonged heartfelt message you copied from a post
And I'll repay you, by lying so at least I can suffer with my dignity.
And that's the lie they believe the most.
And act shocked when we die, Appalled with themselves for not noticing the signs
Then when the sun turns up and it's easier to hurt, They take credit for our recovery
As if they lent us a shirt
So I watch my demons waltz with each other.Wondering why they never sit down and talk to each other
They dance for hours.
Even when the music stops, even when the tears halt.
Too distracted to know that it plucked away my flowers
Plucked away my drive
Almost 20 years and counting and searching for a reason to want to be alive.
Maybe if my demons talk,
Things will finally start to fall into place.
Maybe if I saw the footprints in the sand, I wouldn't need a reason to walk.But you see this look on my face...
20 years later and I'm still the way I came into this world.
Tear stained faced, and a voice gone hoarse, stop drop and curl.
Back into my fetal position
I see faces in the crowd filled guilt ridden.
My voice still shakes when I speak in to the mic
I don't think my words can attach to people except for myself late at night.
When I ask is there more to me? Is there more to life?
These words don't come willingly Why is God's blessing killing me?
