There is nothing clever about feeling inadequate.
Second guessing every word you say,
all of the decisions you make,
playing the minutest detail of your day
in the dark as you lay there kidding yourself you'll sleep.
There's no poetry in describing this feeling.
Your voice on repeat in your head
with no meaning,
insignificant reverberations of
clips of conversations
that you might have had or not,
it doesn't matter if the point was lost and forgot.
To answer the door or let the phone ring out, your mind never stops and still the most basic of tasks seem terrifying.
No denying how ridiculous it is,
and yet you cower behind curtains consumed with fear.
As if they can hear you.
Oh what will you then do?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Aggressive and bravado, it's all a front,
what happened in the past that makes you act like such a cunt?
A mewling child desperate for attention,
a 33 year old baby that needs affection,
that weakness, you pour your soul out
as if your memories will make them
give you their time,
but no one cares for your tales of your horrendous life,
it's just another sad story of forgettable strife.
And yet you try.
Try to explain the crippling fear,
not tangible pain, the doubts that consume
large parts of your brain,
and constructing scenarios that won't ever exist.
Silence with it's deafening numbness,
the bliss of not seeing or hearing a thing,
as if I were dead but also living,
just detached from the chaos thats inside of me. Or for me to see,
another way out that doesn't involve me
talking it out, more subdued that me
needing to scream or then shout,
for others around me to feel it aswell.
That i live in.