The want is exploding out of my cells.
Visceral daily reaction contained only in my skin.
It’s not visible, so I pretend.
There’s nothing else, so I fake.
I can fake anything; never believe otherwise.
Nobody can pretend to themselves like I do.
I can talk myself out of my deepest desires for eternity.
Always a bit longer.
But when the deck holding this breaks,
it will be a catastrophe of epic proportions.
Could I still keep some things in, then?
The thoughts?
The burning rage that spreads like wildfire down my throat, for me to shove it down. Just one more time.
Will I be able to go on without ever saying the words aloud? Without burning it all to the ground?
Will I be my sensible self? Mature beyond words, ready to be hit just once more, for everyone’s sake.
Some days I don’t know how I endure. Some days I know I can take more.
But I won’t allow judgment.
By all means and wishes, only I and God will ever know what I had to do to survive this.