Whimsical Honesty Part One

I've written four poems
so far.

The number keeps on rising
because pouring out my
honest feelings is like a knife
cutting my skin and I know
what that feels like.

I'm angry, and there is
nothing beautiful about
anger, it rises and falls
with poor decisions;
a regret I truly don't
need.

I'm a whimsical ellusionist-
hiding behind cloaked curtains
and that is my honesty for this
evening.

I've cried more in the past few hours
of the past few days,
than I care to cry
ever again...
and if readers
want honesty
of how I'm feeling
at this very moment?

Sadness, thats my
secret,
it's all I can share
at this moment in
time.

To be continued in a few days
when tears won't sting
my eyes and pain my
fingers, so that I can
write what's going on
in my mind....