Almost Real

How can I trust you when I am your lie?

The thing you lust for only under the moon’s light.

You feel so different,

it almost feels real.

But when I step back,

I see it’s obvious—

I’m meant to be concealed.

My heart yearns to be held and healed,

and with you it feels almost real.

I know my hive of a mind is too much for you to hold,

though I wish I could just let myself go—

exhale the pain I keep inside,

release my grasp and let you catch me,

lower my wall and let you step in,

let you see the rotten earth beneath

the thin wallpaper lining.

Would you be afraid?

Would I scare you away?

I scare myself if I look too closely.

That’s why I cover up

and proceed ever so slowly.

I’m not sure what you carry inside—

is it rot like mine,

or something more demonic?

In the ideal, you’d love me so,

I’d be your princess in this god-forsaken hole.

I question your intentions.

I don’t know what you’ll do.

Do you want me the way I want you?

Do I even want you—

or am I just thirsting for love,

in a life deprived of a true hug?

I don’t know what love is.

I don’t even know what it means.

I don’t even love myself—

so how can I be seen

as anything more than something to touch and prod,

like niche little cattle among the cog?

Please—if you love me, let me know.

I may even ask you to let me go.

I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,

or worse—myself.

I can’t keep existing in this hell,

not alone at least.

But I’m not sure I can unleash the beast

I hold in me, the one I wish could come out.

Would you hate me then,

the way I hate myself?