Synthetic

Overwhelming self-loathing

debilitates and smears

a synthetic human

into a state of nothing.

Avoiding confrontation

she harms herself,

realising she is not

worthy of the words her

alter ego spews.

She loves

fiction too deeply

because she is not in it.

 

 

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Crossfire

Caught in the crossfire of someone else’s cruelty

She tiptoes up my spine, testing for weak points

“They hate you.” She whispers,

Devouring my faith with an angry smile

I thought I got over girls like her, decades ago

but it seems I’m infected, have not fully recovered

Maybe tomorrow, I’ll forget her, and myself.

 

 

 

Cocoon

Looking backwards, I ask myself, “What was I, before I was caught?”

I wasn’t a butterfly. This cocoon isn’t going to magically transform me into something beautiful and liberated.

I watch through the gaps, others with wings, whose lives are vibrant and magnificent.

I visited them today, crawled out, and flapped around pretending to be one of them, briefly. I felt joy, and hope, and remembered myself, until it was time to return.

The Fictional Suicide of Unrecognisable Me

“Overblown and dramatic!” You judge from the outside

But I Question this godless, empty vacuum

Waiting for something to save me

A religious residue from a life left behind

You say, “It must be hard to find anyone, when.”

“When I’m still living in limbo with him.” I reply, my heart

Sinking again.

If one more helpful stranger tells me

What I already know

This feeling will get deeper,

The time, longer

So I dream of my own fictitious ending.