Down Deep

June 4, 2009
Somehow I can't stop myself
from taking each sharp word to heart
and letting it sit in my head
and poison how I think of things
I know this pain is wrong, so wrong,
like stepping on the same sharp rock
each time I pass this gravel road,
but I can't help each time.
And I know, somewhere down deep,
that maybe these words,
these things he says,
are twisted and wierd and not real at all --
but I don't think it matters anymore.
I still bring them in so readily,
because somewhere down deep,
I expect these vicious twisted lies
to be the perfect truth.

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