i thought it would help, to admit it to someone
but it didn't. they were only words,
empty words. in reality, they couldn't carry the shame,
the burn they hold inside my head.

maybe if it were real, face-to-face,
with someone i know, it would have been different.
but it was like talking to myself all over again,
only without the comfort of solitude.

(my deepest fear: that somewhere within,
a dark place hidden in my heart,
i like to feel so alone and broken;
that somehow, i asked for it, and still do
every day. because i want it, and need it,
and deserve it.)

(the possibility leaves me in a cold sweat,
terror coursing through me, praying to
the silent sky and a childhood fairy-tale:
say i'm not crazy, make me not crazy.)