Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Deliberate delusion

I wish I could express what I'm really feeling

I can but I still wouldn't matter

I would but it wouldn't change a single thing with which I am dealing

So gone, it can't be brought back but my puny brain refuses to get fatter

I really wish I could transform the thoughts into words, not concealing

I can but the response would just fester

I would but it would not bring me healing

So in silence I suffer; a fool to you, a jester.

I really wish I wasn't thinking about you. I'm pretending

I can always succumb: the memories, always petting

I would but this reality is not as exciting: dull, dead, uninspiring

So in dreams and delusions I will stray so my mind can roam, no fettering

I really wish this wasn't so unhealthy. 'It' I must surely be losing

I can snap out of it but the alternative I find is too unnerving

I would but to be thrust into the big bad world with no guidance, no counselling

*shudders* not half as compelling