My time passes in a series of emotions
Haunted heart and thoughtless motions.
My skin crawls at my head’s resolutions,
Wishing I could keep stuffing, but it’s useless.
I repeat a similar mantra throughout my day
Entwined in segments of fear and pain.
I say, “Stuff it down, try not to feel.”
The numbness helps me remember it’s real.
The thoughts are real, but they lie to me.
Dictating how I feel, they blind me from reality.
Wayward thoughts and even wilder emotions,
Breeds insanity and all my inner commotion.
My lenses are clouded by speedy interpretations
Of other actions, making me question others’ motivations.
Fear is brewing inside my lungs
Suffocating my air, making me question everyone.
I’ve easily made these excuses,
Blocking out any hope, thinking I’m useless
Because of the war tearing my mind apart.
I’ve tried, but I wonder when I’ll really start
Living my life apart from fear.
Maybe then I’ll learn fiction from what’s real.
I’ve had a life filled with reservations,
But I’ll continue to drift to my happy space, lost in imagination.
Ded. To the greatest escape, my writing
