What's real?
In my reality?
My pain is pretty real,
As my mind makes that clear to me.
But memories are mixed up in thick fog,
As I'm losing all clarity.
My pain is like paint you see.
That has been spilled across many
Stages of my life.
As I'm confused by the time,
It takes to make all these wrongs, right.
Memories of being fine,
Feel like flickers in the flame,
The theme tune to my life,
Is the sound of constant pain,
My mind like a labyrinth lost in circles,
Only to find myself once again,
No cure or exit so I’m trapped with this constant pain,
But If water was that healing touch,
Then I'm that desert crying out for the rain.
Hope to be fully me once again,
Feels like I’m trapped in a psychological game.
That lasts for years instead of days.
Where trauma and lack of self-worth were the ingredients to blame deep within,
Hiding behind fake bone,
As I cry behind my skin.
There’s a rare kind of peace I crave that ceases to begin.
Every single day,
Wanting to kiss this pain away,
It's just sadly becoming hearsay.
I feel its Infront of me sometimes,
Like it's on the cards,
But the pessimistic side convinces me
It's nothing more than a mirage.
Thinking back to when I was pain free,
Is just way too f**king harsh,
I feel like something has been stolen away
There was a heist,
Deep inside,
For the jewel of my life.
The essence of my being,
The reason for my living,
Where at times the fears,
Turned my lungs into stone walls,
That try to stop me from breathing,
This dizzy world I contend with,
As I try to break through the ceiling,
As the fragments of hope crumble away,
I try to find a crumb to believe in,
Broken frame, but heart still pumping just the same,
Or like a machine gun full of rage.
A new body like a second skin,
A new hope where I could escape in.
But I'd miss the old me,
As that's the original form I came in.
A version of myself I so badly want to see,
Looking for a raft as I drown in self-pity.
In my dreams I'm pain free.
Maybe that's why I'm addicted to sleep.
People think I'm killing time,
But that's better than killing me.
To live a kind of reality that makes me happy.
But when my eyes open, I'm back to that pain and this complex city.
Concrete kills the soul,
My eyes wish to drink up nature’s paintings.
Every colour in her pallet,
But I’m lost, in a time capsule,
Forced to drink down paracetamol,
Numb the pain,
To try and calm the mental.
But chronic pain is the hardest pill to swallow.
If it’s in my mind?
How do I bring back what's mine?
Or is it left in my past something far behind?
I pray for the day,
When I can walk in this world,
Like I do in my dreams.
Pain free,
And this existence is real.
Not a fantastical fantasy.
As my life is handed back over to me.
My balance, my strength,
My reality...