The illusion of falling behind

The illusion of falling behind

Feels like a pressure chamber

Filled with air that likes to whisper

That you will never measure up

To what people expect of you

But it is a sneaky trap

That sucks out your vitality

Until you wither inside the shadows

Covered in a thick blanket of regret

When you let the soul navigate,

There is no pressure

No forced performance

No empty pride

But a beautiful forest

Abundant in love and trust

Puppet Masters

The dark alleyways

Cast their eerie glow

Reminding me of a past

That can never be erased

I felt the bone deep trembling,

As the hands controlling the cards

Weren't my hands

But rather the hands of family

Disguised as puppet masters

Who drew out my fate

The words of protest dies in my throat

While the rise of an insatiable thirst

Keeps me in the game

The darkness becomes home

The darkness becomes comfortable

When all you have the strength to do

Is shrink into the shadows

And try to ignore the pang of anger

That nearly broke the door down

The darkness becomes home

When you never bother to speak

With a quiet trembling voice

In the moment,

It feels safe to hide

But the rushing sea of shame

Never leaves

Until you stand up

And unlock the door,

To confront what you thought wasn't possible