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This isn't what you need.
I, am not what you need.
It's just I need to find a solution,
Ostensibly, I look for it in everyone.
Wherever I go, I make it up as I go along,
I imagine what could be true
In a fanciful and quixotic place.

I'm not trying to make you,
Or anyone else my personal conquest;
Or an object to fill my spiritual journey,
I am not intending to lose you after finding myself.
And I'm sorry,
In case any of these things have,
Or will, come true.
It's almost like I crave what I'm scared of
Then when it's right there in front of me
It's too close,
Has got to go
And I'm fearful beyond possible belief.
She's hurting inside
The longer she cries
Deep blue eyes
Drowned out goodbyes

One day she wakes up and sighs,
"What now?" She asks,
This is escalating further,
To the point that she's screaming at herself,
"What am I supposed to do now?"
She sinks back down,
Onto her bed,
She can't go to sleep,
She's too upset.

Alone and angry or numb,
There's no in between,
She is either raging or happy as can be,
Sometimes she wonders if she's actually
Feeling anything.
Give me something,
I just need anything I can get,
To try to heal it.
I'm trying my best,
Not to forget how to be without it.

I am searching the lines,
Creating new stanzas,
In a hopeless attempt
To get it all together again.

Lately I'm starting to see
Myself seeking attention,
Even if ever so slightly.
I realise I've clung onto things tight,
That make me feel needed,
Those who paid me attention,
And then those same people who then did the opposite:
Because everyone gets bored eventually.

Now I feel like I'm just waiting,
For someone else to forget me,
Another person saying **** it they don't need me.
In addition for a while now,
I've felt my siblings slowly slipping away and away further
To him.

But that's not what this is about,
This is about how self centred I am,
Once again, I guess it will always come back then.
The past years seem to be a sequence of:
Thinking I'm better,
When really I'm just changing the order of the pattern,
I'm just expressing it in different ways.

But I don't know how many more strategies I have left.
Obey the everlasting voices.
Those that beg you do,
They'll be here until you die,
The only ones that will never leave you,
Not even at night,
Like a soul mate - they'll be here when you cry.

Obey them young child,
You must learn to sacrifice your lust,
There's light and then there's darkness,
Although, here there's only you,
You wonder where you are.

Keep walking in the shadows,
Be careful you don't stumble and trip
In the land of murkiness.
They await around corners,
Unrevealed; out of sight for most,
But never out of your mind.

What's wrong with her?
She must be hysterical; psychotic; certifiable.
No one sees things the way she does,
No one sees them at all:
The shadows in the corners of the room,
The nails - or was that claws - against the windows.

They don't feel
The panic
Like she does.

They'll creep into your room at night,
You scream, trying to tell them goodbye,
Except they never leave,
You beg please
And they lock you in the cellar.

Months go by and it takes,
Half a year to notice,
You haven't been seen outside.
It takes them months for you to find yourself screaming at the walls,
****** clothes on the floor,
Because you want to get rid of yourself,
Before they **** you.
This is different from my usual type of themes, I hope it doesn't **** too badly.
If distress were a test,
We would all be in a mess,
Heads are vulnerable,
Yet have great need to be impressed.
Recover from brain damage physically,
Can we recover from our own mentality,
Come to see whose really the damage, eventually?
I don't even know what this is or why,  it's ******* I know.
Here I continue to write these never ending poems,
About some guy I never knew,
Someone I'll probably never really care about,
Because apparently:
It's still not out of my system.

I don't know how many more
Verses or lines this will take,
To pour this all away from my insides,
So I'm sorry if your sick
Of me constantly plastering this everywhere.
You're probably wondering how I'm still not over it,
Because every collection that I have,
Nowadays this always seems to get in somewhere.

I even dedicated a whole project to it,
Some kind of twisted devotion because I thought it might help,
They say I've had too much dissociation.
Those contradicting professionals,
Say this isn't good enough either:
I'm just not doing something right,
And my agony is wrong;
I'm not doing traumatic recovery right,
Even though if you ask me, there hasn't been any "trauma".

If you're sick of it,
I understand.
I'm sick of it too,
But keeping this inside,
It just won't do,
But I'm still told I'm not
Releasing my anguish anyway.
This is truly how I feel right now.
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