I shouldn't call you a poem
For to me your truly not
Just the questions ,and confessions that have seemed
to torture my thoughts
For what feels like centuries maybe eternity's
But really is not
You see
your more of a dream that i find no walking up of
Just a dream with no escape only an entry
I wish to believe that i live in all times but the present
I read stories of medieval times and twist them with my imagination
Become someone else
Live another life
Without even knowing
Off its true existence
I will never know
For there is no truth in my mind
Nor in the things i see and speak
And then it feels as if
This might be the true me
Deep down inside my lonely hollow heart
And besides the voices of questioning and never of admiration
I think i may have finally found her
And then I'm back to my thoughts of
Digging that blade into my veins
Full of unsuccessful red tears
Dripping through
But still lying deep within in my body
Never truly escaping
Always corrupting
And when i speak of success
I speak not of the success that others see
And money rewards
But of inner success
The one where
I find her and except her
Embrace her and love her
But then I'm back
I'm back to my thoughts
The thoughts that maybe ill find the courage
To step a little further
Down the steps of death
Or that i might exceed the counts of my capsules of relief
From two or three
To ten or twenty
To those friends who knew and tried to take matters into their weak innocent selves
regretting not telling
someone
Anyone else
Those thoughts are back
The ones that question
But never admire
And when i was close to finding her
Myself
The true inner me
I loose her
In the sea of necessities
That always overlaps her
Always drowns her out
And once again
I'm every where
Except the present
Looking for her
Wondering if one day
I might find her
I might be able to keep her
If one day i can ever be her
Wondering who she truly is
Who i truly am
And if ill ever be truly existing
