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

I never understood how twisted minds exist in the horror of their actions

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

opens a door to more... and I don't resist 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