The Ignorant Myself

Ignorant of my true self as my heart bleeds.
The bitter taste of regret lingers.
Hands tremble with the terror of revelation.
Eyes dilate to take in the light that isn’t there.
A voice that is both coarse and dry, Echoes on in frigid air.

Ignorant of my true self as my heart bleeds.
The scornful look, the constant my mind sees.
Tripping up at every step,
The stairs are too thin and too steep to climb.
And fall, not down, but up in flames.
Passing it here, there, and everywhere the blame.

Ignorant of my true self as my heart bleeds.
The pale empty look, the upside down memory.
Painting in the ink of the forgotten.
The shapes twist and bend into the grotesque.
Beyond the recognition, beyond the doubt.
The lines blur together, coherence without.

Ignorant of my true feelings as my heart dies.
Mistaken moths for butterflies.
Breeding infestation,
Confusing the beauty with the bleak.
Only grim words does this mouth speak.

Morbid, and black,
But not uncomfortable.
Crooked and warped,
Yet strangely familiar.

Ignorant of my true self as my heart bleeds.
The bitter taste of regret lingers,
But the sensations ease.
Hands tremble with the terror of revelation,
But the tremors calm.
Eyes dilate to take in the light that isn’t there,
And soon radiance seen.
A voice that is both coarse and dry,
Echoes on in frigid air.
It fears not, nor knows despair.
Embrace me now, with vengeful glare.
I know myself, and this is me.

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