untitled,

This may not be my best poem but oh well.

I thought I knew what I wanted,
But currently look back and ask myself why,
Why I was so stupid.
Why I so intensely believe my twisted version of the truth.

When that truth was but a lie,
Some perception invented falsely in my brain,
Beleiving anything, any words, so desperate,
To hold on to something that never existed.

Something I was so convinced of,
So intwined in, ridiculously.
Why could I not differianate the two?
Reality, and thought?

Where, then, was my brain?
When I was being led by lies?
Unintentionally, and gradually, so caught up in unrealness
To a point where depression could possess me.

Where life meant little, and love everything,
'love' yes, such a scary and fake word.
A word with lie stored inside it,
Where did the lie come in to tact?

Was it that first 'feeling' ?
Or those stupid first words?
Stupidity allowed me to believe,
that everything made sense,

That everything was real,
But in whose opinion was it evedr?
If it was, where's the proof?
And why, if it was, do I feel so incredibly dumb?

Where, ever was the happiness?
The content that love is said to be?
I never felt it,
Maybve, it never was real.

Trying to forget stupidity is impossible,
Remembering is all but too easy,
Where is my morphine for the feeling?
Because I feel the prodding scalpel too intensely.