I'm not staying,
it's my blame.
I'll leave the innocent;
I'm not the same.
I've got blood on my hands.
Pressure to understand.
You're right.
You've always been.
I tend to forget.
I won't bother you,
still my existence bothers me.
My mind smothers me.
The nights scare me;
comfort is scarce.
The dark makes things worse,
and this silence hurts.
It can be so loud,
the noise of nothing.
The sounds of your thoughts,
utterly isolated.
I love y'all;
but I don't love myself
I can't live up to what you all think of me-

genius comes in fragments
poetry comes in slivers of sentences
open to all
yet mastered by none
merely mortals weaving a web
a web of words
of truths and lies
of things made plain
and things we hide
and as we navigate this artful web
we realize just how much we are out of our depth