Why is it I feel like I’m playing a role,
That belongs to another, I recently stole,
A past I’m recalling with hollow displace,
That feels so anon, but belongs to this face.
Why is it I feel like I’m stuck in a view,
That is seen through my eyes, but is sadly askew,
To the point that I recognise little within,
Will I ever feel comfortable in my own skin.
Why is it I feel like I’m broken and lost,
Placating the truth at ridiculous cost,
With total detachment and empty discourse,
Constricted and driven by sullen remorse.
Why is it I feel like I’m shattered and marred,
By an illness that cannot be conquered or barred,
That perpetuates stigma and rapid descent,
Into madness that isn’t so heavenly sent.
Why is it I feel like there’s no hope at all,
To save me from moments I stumble and fall,
Will I ever be cleansed of the fear and the dread,
Or will I stay trapped by the thoughts in my head.
Why is it I feel like my mind cannot flee,
The bitter repugnance and weakness I see,
My soul remains wounded, my heart remains cold,
To all of the treasures I used to behold.
Why is it I feel like my life is a thorn,
Rejected, forgotten, and painfully scorn,
Trapped in this madness, alone for all time,
Will I ever be saved, will I ever be mine.
Why is it I feel like I’m playing a role,
Portraying a life that I recently stole,
To deny my existence, to live by extreme,
Pretending it’s all just a harrowing dream.
© The Complicated Bunny – 22 Aug 2020
The Complicated Bunny 