This Doesn’t Deserve a Title
I used to tell horrific lies
Because they were cooler than the truth
And being cool mattered to me
The truth was always ugly
But I could paint beautiful lies about horrifying realities
And at least make you feel intrigued
I thought being interesting was better than being honest
And honestly I’ve never been interested in being anything
But your interest in me almost made me an honest man
And man that feeling intrigued me over time and it compounded interest that honestly never existed before
Before you I couldn’t care less about living honestly or even living to be honest, so you became my interest and I’m interested in learning the Gods honest truth of how
You didn’t break through a shell or climb over a wall
You became a mentally broken mans obsession
He will say that he loves you but really he’s just enthralled
And that feeling is fleeting.
So eventually he will decide that you’re boring.
He might try to manipulate
And wait until you capitulate
And give in to what he wants
But the chase it what gets that serotonin rising
As soon as you give in, you’re boring again.
So the game gets changed
Because his brains deranged
You think the snake is under your control
Because it’s been… defanged?
As soon as you relax he’s going to bite you.
These are just thoughts
produced through an episode of my medicine trying to do its job
against a brain that knows that the medicine is trying to do its job
It’s the resistance
And the revolution is being broadcasted
Through the words that drip from my thumbs
As I press and press hoping that at some point the words start to flow and connect before my hands are just numb
Right now I feel like I can write for days
But I’m tethered to reality by responsibility that makes writing my way to the grave
Seem like a poor choice, and that reality makes me feel pure dismay
Beyond trying to rhyme I’m trying make sense
To myself
when I read this later I hope that it helps
But it won’t
I’m divorced from the hope
My therapist tells me that eventually this gets better
I’d like to ask her “how soon” but I’m afraid that she’ll accidentally speak the truth and say “never”
She says “it’ll be like you’re seeing the world through new glasses”
And I can’t help but wonder what I’ll miss with these things blocking my view
Maybe I’m worrying too much about things I have no power over
And I need to try to learn to—
I’m tired of writing now.