When the weight of secrets
Begins to drag you
Down to unconsciousness,
Erupts in angry red rashes
All over your body,
Shoots up as bile and spoils your dinner
(And everyone else's),
Puffs up your lips to
Inhuman sizes.
Even talking to someone
And offloading
Becomes a fantasy.
You begin vetting
Every person you know
She will try to hush you up
Say thus is life, don't cry
And don't tell anyone
He will dismiss it
With a smirk or his lips
As if it means nothing
She will judge you
Bring it up in every
Future conversation
And point out
Where you went wrong
He will be shocked
Slap you and refuse to
Let you live your life
Vent all his misplaced anger
On the undeserving you
Maybe a psychologist
Can help you
But you think and think
And finally think
They are just doing their job
They don't care they are not
Interested
And then you realize
All you want is
A little interest
(Just one spark
of genuine interest)
A litte understanding
A little empathy
And ultimately,
Because you cannot imagine
Falling into the arms of your
Psychiatrist
(Or psycho therapist or whatever)
And the overwhelming feelings
Not being reciprocated,
You decide against it.
And turn to the only place left:
Inwards.
All you want is a little love
(But a hug will do)
No comments:
Post a Comment