There are sudden surges of sentiment,
The unwanted feelings that make me recoil,
The thoughts of the unthinkable.
The voice I must kill for it won’t silence on its own,
‘Til the stinging pain turns in to a dull ache,
Like a knock on a hollow wood.
The knowing that I’m lying to myself,
Of not thinking of what I’m thinking right now,
Of not feeling what I’m feeling right now.
The incessant thoughts of the hopeful and the hopeless,
Both of them being me,
The unwanted wanted possibility.
Like thoughts when they shouldn’t be,
Like tears when I shouldn’t bleed,
Like my very own world, shattering within me.