Detach

I catch myself as my own villain—

weaving a lie seamlessly with what's true

knowing these half-truths won't weigh on my conscience;

that if I needed to, I could waste away in this tortured silence

-

how do twisted minds exist in the horror of their actions

with every lie I tell, every act in this endless play I exist in,

opens a door to more... and now I understand it

maybe it's the loneliness that plagued my childhood

allowing my mind to wander to places unkind

-

what if those thoughts escaped at an age most fragile,

during a phase of absolute sorrow a young mind couldn't fathom?

it wouldn't be your fault, they say

you buried those memories for survival,

thinking it must've been a vivid nightmare, a trial by fire

-

don't touch it

you are not your thoughts they say

-

disassociation, pain— illness' not recognized as a consequence of a life not lived

the young soul that was silenced can speak again

and still

those thoughts will drift by

but they no longer belong to you

please remember they are not you.