Poetry

Black Cobwebs

You’re hurting.

I can see it as plain

as if you were holding up a sign to the world

letting them know

that being trodden on

and lied to – however well-intentioned – is not okay.

Except everyone, regardless of vision,

is blind to it.

It takes until the tears roll down

for them to understand

you can’t

keep trudging away everyday,

that care-free positive smile –

weighing several tonnes –

hiding your real thoughts.

Pretending, pretending, pretending

everything is fine.

No rest. No sleep. No insights.

It’s wounding you.

Slathering you in red;

not blood.

Anger. Pain. Sorrow.

And love.

Because you love,

because you claimed a degree of happiness

that gives the illusion you have distanced

yourself from the circle

and don’t want to be distracted,

there’s guilt.

Needless guilt.

Your choice was never to be left in the dark.

But I have shared the same

and understand why it’s there.

I hate it.

I hate how it wraps you in dark threads and cocoons you.

The only thing I can do

is hold your hand, drink your words

and let you lean on me.

It’s nowhere near enough.