I feel sick.
Sick.
Tumults of nerves
Crash
Upon my conscious shores.
Waves
Of endless misery
Make my insides sore.

I feel weak.
Weak.
Drafts of fear
Breeze
Within my shaking bones.
Rushes
Of quiet anxiety
Colder than the age old stones.

My stomach is too full of stones,
My face too full of blood,
My heart too full of mud,
My soul too full of dark.

Where did I even start?
What beginning is mine?
Why do I pretend I’m fine?
Where do I begin?
When will it finally win?
Why can’t I let go?
Why can’t I ever hope to show what is trapped inside my heart
This desire to be a part
Of something better than me?
What is better?
What can I be?

Why can’t I separate these two Golden masks,
One side is nothing but a cast of false brass,
One side is nothing but a shell of empty gold,
An image of beauty hiding a lesser self,
The other is pure but only a little.

Reality is fickle,
Falsity is a mistress to all.

The night reveals temptation,
The day reveals the fall.

Drip, drip, drip,
It creeps and drips and climbs,
Up my throat this vile creature slimes.
Its tingling fingers grip

I feel sick