I lie.
I cry.
I scream until the walls shake,
until the dogs bark three streets over.
I make people mad.
I twist their love into knots,
leave them holding pieces of me
Iโll never get back.
Itโs not that I want toโ
God, I donโt want to.
Iโm filled with love,
I swear I am.
I carry laughter in my chest
like a burning engine,
but somehow
it always comes out wrong.
Too hot,
too wild,
burning holes in everything
I touch.
I try to be better.
I try to hold steady,
but the ground shifts under me,
always has,
like I was born on some fault line
no one else can see.
One moment,
Iโm standing tall,
telling jokes,
making them laugh,
feeling lightโ
like maybe,
just maybe,
this time Iโll get it right.
And thenโ
snap.
Something breaks,
some unseen wire in my head.
I **** it up again.
The lies spill out before I can stop them,
dumb little things
that donโt matter
but somehow
always do.
I donโt even know
what Iโm lying for.
I just see the wreckage
and keep piling more onto it.
I see the way they look at meโ
people I love,
people I want to hold ontoโ
and I can tell
theyโre wondering
how much more
they can take
before they go mad too.
And still,
I keep going.
Keep tearing at the seams.
Itโs not that I want to,
but what else
is there to do?
Maybe thatโs life.
Maybe it wrecks us all,
drags us through its mess
until weโre raw
and ragged,
trying to find love
in the middle of it,
trying to laugh
so we donโt cry all the time.
I donโt want to make them sad.
I donโt want to be this way.
But somehow,
I always end up
standing in the ruins,
laughing through the tears,
wondering
how it got so ******
again.
I guess thatโs life.
It destroys everyone,
slowly,
relentlessly,
until thereโs nothing left
but the love you tried to give
and the madness
you couldnโt hide.
And maybe,
just maybe,
thatโs enough
to keep going.