Old Broken Book

So today it seems I discovered
The reason I hide inside my books
Whose characters are so spectacular
They aren't judged by others merely on looks.

They all have outrageous personalities.
All so different yet all accepted.
Fictional; it's a load of shit.
Fiction my eyes had never before deflected.

Normally I would embrace it.
Cling to it with all my heart.
I now know the difference was my subconscious
Willing me not to fall apart.

So why did I ignore it?
Why was I so arrogant to turn another page?
It's clear the last 12 months of my life.
I've become an actor frozen on stage.

And worse; it's not even my stage!
It's there's so they control me
I do what they want when they want it
I don't think it’s me they see.

And her!
How can one person make another feel so detached?
She is just so vigorously inviting.
One day and I was thoroughly attached.

And everyone knows that I love her!
How could I not after 10 long years?
But it gets so fucking tiring.
Knowing people look at me; look at her; and instantly my face disappears.

I feel ghastly writing this down.
But it’s been inside for far too long.
And it was still just building up
Its release was something I couldn't prolong.

So call me dramatic if you want!
Call me selfish if you please!
I really don't care what you think
Because I can ignore you with such ease.

Well most of you; actually all but one.
13 years makes him wise to the workings of my brain.
My very own knight in shining armour.
I know he'd do anything to alleviate my pain.

But what happens when the pain strikes late at night?
While my knight is asleep in his bed.
Who can keep me alive then?
As these black thoughts run amuck through my head.

In one of these stages now
I'm fully aware my hands are shaking.
Hours pass like seconds
I can't believe how long this poem is taking.

I'm yawning almost constantly now
But my pen refuses to leave my hand
It's on a wild mission to free my mind
It wants people to understand.