Squabbling concerns fail to ignite a reaction
As they all voice opinions formed in the dark.
Disregarded are the unguarded who expect
Confessions to come willing as to why the words
Landing on page after page are red, enticing
Bad luck and worse scrawls that resemble
Streaks of blood staining the yellowish pages.
Memories, dreams and realities collide inside
As my mind struggles to comprehend between
The periods of dejection, jubilation and depression
Experienced in each of the three at any moment.
And friends’ voices shrill higher in their pleas
For access to my thoughts even though they are free
For all to see regardless of our natural degree.
But the pressure mounts, the brow twitches more
As tears in vain try to escape the clutches of my
Unforgivable lashes, barriers to and from my sanctum.
So when the calls come with renewed vigour I shall answer
With brutal honesty why my life is lived through lies
In the safety of solitude secretly sought in the night:
That this is a choice of my own making.
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