Pathétique

For days I’ve said only half of what I did and didn’t want to say,

& did all that I do every day:

tried to escape.

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore & escape makes such a mess on the floor.

Maybe one day I’ll make a decision I won’t regret again & again & again:

always the same, always failing to stand up to myself & forgetting to hide from the scaring knowledge

that all things are pretence yet everything is true…

but I’m lying to you again.

I have no pain just a feeling of constant nausea & all the talk of trying to escape

is just a way to plead for sympathy;

pathetic, really,

isn’t it?