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