Hope Can Be A Menacing Thing

I always said

my words were

my muse.

Mendacious.

No you were my

muse all along.

I can't explain

how you act as

the ink on my

fingertips

the words on

my lips

The reason I

woke up, even when

The clouds wept.

But now my thoughts

are more vivid than

reality.

My solace becoming

the very nightmare

I ran from.

My vulnerability was

not the way I expressed

myself. It was a way I

clung to you like a lifeboat.

I was in a gridlock

Trapped all around

hearing the same

thoughts over and over

again. Until they etched

themselves into my brain.

Until I couldn't think of

anything else.

The day of escape

was only just a blur.