Scared to admit this knowing. That lives under my skin and melds with the beat of my heart.
It’s like a confused memory,
uncertain of the facts.
What really is, what isn’t.
What can be trusted, and what cannot.
Am I bat-shit crazy?
These twisted intuitive dreams.
A longing that never sleeps.
A hope that never dies.
I cry because I want to be fair.
I cry because I want the truth.
I cry because my integrity guides me, into places I fear to go.
may never know.