Illusion. Pain. Distraught.
I have a dire need to be true.
All caught up in consequence
Wondering what I should do.
Anger. Distress. Morose.
Surely you can see what this is:
Left to feel diseased,
Alone, depressed and teased.
Pulling away from a reality,
A reality not tangible in the least.
Constantly yearning for honesty
And feeling around for that 'piece'.
Hate me. Retain me. Erase me.
I don't want to give in to myself.
Hopeless? Let me try:
No longer here to remain hidden on a shelf.
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