I had wandered and wondered,
It was all really just a lie.
I fell far too into the comfort of light
And felt myself far too much a wonder:
Everything I told myself was a lie.
In exalted self-hatred I erected myself.
A pillar of exquisite pallor of mind,
Or a deepening void, or something otherwise.
Every night has been a wicked spell
Whose cracks and lines I've peeled,
As I've fallen down the whirl of the well.
All I have ever wanted was to yell
And crawl out of the hole I've built.
Have I endured enough of hell?
That person I knew once felt so well
Is the person I've always felt
And I've known myself to be.
– M.M.
