SHAKY

Now I can stop pretending
I can finally take control
Stop drowning in my lies
I know only one sick relief
Now more tranquil, I hide wounded

On the surface, it is small; barely a wound
This temporary shelter forces only more pretending
I might be lying saying I am in control
But what’s one more on the growing pile of lies?
How shockingly it abates as if I can only hold so much pain
I am desperate for relief

I am so sorry for telling you lies
But it doesn’t matter, my so-called wound
And I couldn’t risk you dismissing my pain
So I continue pretending
Just to have some small form of control
And I can’t imagine truth bringing relief

Nothing is real without relief
Stupidly I continue though I know it will lead to more lies
How I cling to even deadly control
I have become a warped reflection of internal wounds
At times I feel as if I am living a charade of constant pretending
I am so angry yet so powerless I can’t breathe for all the pain

It grows tiresome and repetitious this alleged pain
Perhaps knowing what it really is could bring relief
I could finally stop pretending
But how to erase the lies?
Or is it all too deep and long? Am I too simply too wounded?
I could never tell; risk my control

How small it is, a tack between my fingers, my control
In charge of my life through pain
I cherish happiness and come away wounded
I wish to be hard and emotionless, but I am too fragile for such relief
Besides, others’ anger would bring repercussions from my lies
I must continue pretending

Pretending is essential for control
Lies are necessary for pain
Relief is a wound