Every time I think I grasp it, I’m confounded by some new shit.
I am alone in this world.
Tears pool, soak the sheets, wash the face, lick the cheeks

and spell my demise.
My facade shatters, and into the abyss, it blows.
It was never really glass to begin with…paper guarded by toy bandits.
Seems drastic : depression is my confession of a reality I hate to dread.
Of emotions left to brew, of emotions dead.
Utter your sounds, for they echo into no room.
Kaboom?
Yes.
The bomb explodes, only for a second.
Detected, but never corrected.
For tomorrow, it will start again.
The shroud will shroud, and the veil will veil.
The toy bandits will masquerade and aid.
But a free slave is still a slave,

and a suspended lie is still a lie.
So I lie with my secret.
Knowing I can’t keep it, but it will keep me.
…a free slave that is a slave.