Tuesday, July 11, 2006

A Farce, My Pain

Sometimes
I wonder
As I put pen to paper,
Will you be sentences
Spelling perfection,
Or smudges across
A page.
Will I hide you
In my secret box,
Ashamed
Of what you may have said.
Blaming the pen
For false starts.
Will you sing to me,
Wake me
With joy,
Because I concealed
You
My truth.
These words
Your essence,
Half lies,
Forming paradox.
I refuse to read you
As I taint this page,
Afraid
Of the truths
I may discover.
What right do I have
Imprinting
My sadness
On you.
Those few
Bitter memories,
I feel
Deeply,
Those smiles
I fear.
My sorrow
Taints you
Longingly.
I shed my skin,
Slowly
Revealing
My abode.
Do you mock my words,
Childishly drawn,
You,
My so called craft.
The cure
I long considered
My last.
Do my worries bother you,
Or do I
Fall
With the rest of
Long stories,
Over-indulgent
Bitter pain,
A farce.

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