It would be preferable to say 

that I’m in search of clarity

but in all honesty,

I’m not quite sure

what that means to me.

I’m not quite sure 

I desire to peer so deep toward these cruel truths

lest the enlightenment burn me.

Yes, I have skin

and of course I possess eyes;

though, there are periods when I wish I didn’t have to see.

Yes, I have hands and I have feet 

but I hardly remember what it’s like to feel.

Day in,

day out, 

it’s better this way.

No, I know no remedy for loneliness,

for it is mine to keep, 

but I know the hazards and symptoms. 

Panaceas may exist for some 

but I haven’t the luck nor hope to gamble.

My patchwork heart is fraying at the seams, 

revealing bruised and blackened arteries 

unraveling as I speak.

The shelves is my brain remain void.

Even the daisies are moribund,

bleeding into the once pellucid water, 

exchanging color and agility

for brittle bones cursed with fragility.

I haven’t the willpower to move my lips for a futile purpose such as begging,

so I repose in this deafening silence

with a screaming mind.

I write it all down, 

written in blood.

I am praised for the horror,

which I hide behind a mask,

by all the faces that can’t see 

that my flesh is scarred

and these written troubles have yet to take their leave.

My head is dry,

drained of all the color.

Blue veins,

translucent tears,

golden eyes, 

and rosy cheeks, 

all which have gone ashen.

Im attired in the pale colors that I know you wanted

but that’s not why I drape this pallid flag of sureender

across my limbs.

These threads hide my bones, 

they hide me, 

and just how much of myself is absent.

These colors you demanded for so long,

in truth,

are meer symptoms

of an issue

which you thought they would symbolize the conclusion of.

I’m honest,

I was honest,

and I always have been,

hiding begind egregious words hidden in blatant plain sight,

words which I once wished so fervently 

you would strive to decrypt.

Just how well did you know me?

I hardly recognize myself at all

beneath the name of a stranger.

At midnight I wander the streets in my mind utterly lost,

splashing through puddles

in yellow shoes not my own,

motivated by a mind 

of someone other than myself.