spread by touch, I feel I must save you from this bacterium, that I now carry.
The doctors ask about my past, if I’d lived my life fast, no not very.
It’s not my own choice that I mute my own voice, but because sound hurts.
My body burns, and my mind constantly churns, peace in short spurts.
My remedy is denial. I lie on trial, giving a name that isn’t even mine.
But still at home I feel alone, telling myself I am fine.
I have a sickness.
I am a liar, in a honest man’s skin.
I hurt myself, a bleeding of sorts, to keep the signs from showing.
But if this keeps up I know that I’ll die knowing…
That I lied to everyone who loved me.
I told them that I knew who I was.
I don’t yet know who I’ll be.
But I’ll be okay because…
I’m just a sick, lonely Liar, who is scared to admit to herself…
That maybe the truth can be a good thing.
Maybe I can let go of myself,
See what the future will bring.
I know what not to say.
I know that I care, that I want to help, but I cannot claim to understand the why of the pain, or know how to make it fade.
But even as I stay silent, I remain. A vanguard, ready to step forward when I am needed.
I know not what to say, or how to say it. Only that when the time comes I will step forward and offer my support.