Lying to myself that the breaths which follow will be pure…
I push a smile on a tired face with no roots from within,
Another pre-broken promise to my soul that this pain I can endure!
On an autumn’s morning, I carry a book and read,
Lying to myself that the words I read will elevate my misery…
I push away a negative thought yet a 100 others breed,
Another desperate attempt to herd away the painful imagery!
On an autumn’s morning, I try to make sense of it all,
Lying to myself that the sense might make sense to me…
I push away regret and it comes bouncing back like a ball,
Another fake hope that it could, maybe, hopefully, set me free!
On an autumn’s morning, I finally realize my illusions:
Things will never change; accept them the way they are…
I push away the pretenses and the million confusions:
Hope is fake, attempts are desperate and happiness is far!