Fifty-Two

I blocked out words
falling from my lips
in blue ink stains on
the page; where my
imagination was left
to fight back words
attempting to escape,
I sought out freedom
from the truth, all the
while still dreading
the certainty of losing
myself inside broken
verses strewn across
the page, littered in
ramblings and debris
of a story not my own.

Eleven.

I let that gnawing feeling
in my head and chest
get the better of me again.
I swore up a storm from
memories and destruction,
promising vicious lies
formed from what I chose
to believe as truths
but failed to save
when the waters rose.
It was my weakness no
longer wearing a disguise;
a friend from long ago
resurfacing in my debris
telling me the exact words
I had no business hearing
yet based all ration on.
Like the devil on my shoulder,
I had fallen in rebuttals
of false arguments with
my own self – my will power
had gone with the tides.