Feeling sick, feeling frightened, feeling out of control.
Fear letting that parasite out of the hole,
Where it’s bored and it’s buried, and ripped through its host.
Where it hides in the shame, haunting me like a ghost.

It’s all over, shouldn’t matter, was so long ago.
I’m lucky, compared to others, I know.

But I still feel it’s there, infecting my mind,
A slow death of shame, making me blind.

If I open the scars, will I ever repair?
If it all spills out, will anyone care?
Or reject my pathetic, say I shouldn’t be there?
**** it up and move on *****, life isn’t fair.