So many secrets buried deep inside. Afraid of the monster I pretend not to be. The demons of my past won't let me rest, won't let me be. I abused myself, I confess. Never feeling good enough: never feeling adequate in this game we play. Pretending to be confident, masquerading in a mask of irony. Subsidizing every need with things. Surrounded in a home of make-believe. I pretend to believe in the obvious. Discussing politics & religion; every breath we take feeds the dark. I can be so black, dark as onyx. Picking everything & body apart. Dissecting every feeling, every need. Deciphering the meaning behind every action. I lied to everyone around me, pushing everybody away, it's true. Living a lie, pretending I fit in, all the while drowning in fear. Fear of rejection of being found out. Just another "sexually confused" boy born to live a life of strife, just what I don't need another reason to hide away for fear of damnation. Tightrope walking over a lake of fire, the message is clear, the warning is dire. Before I begin to breathe, I best be conscious of the fire beating down upon my back. I have a heart full of love, but no one to give it to. Trying to be as honest as I can, excavating the remnants of my heart. Preserving the never-ending fire of yearning for someone with substance & desire.
Poet: Skyy Allen
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