This Game

You don’t realize what lies

In between the lines.

You don’t know what it is that you feel,

You don’t know how to heal;

nothing is real,

And you don’t know how to deal

With these whimsical thoughts

that you can’t possibly reveal.

So you walk out in the rain;

Stand up tall,

Hide your shame.

You look around and wonder

Who else plays this game?

But you know that

even though you’re not the same,

You still feel each others’ pain.

You conjure a fantasy of unlikely fame,

You wonder why no one knows your name,

And inside there is a flame.

It is the beast you cannot tame.

It is trying to make a claim on

who you are,

Attempting to imprint deep scars;

And it’s so bizarre that you’re so

Far from yourself.

You can’t think straight;

You’re insane at this rate,

But it’s half past eight, and it’s

Much too late;

You know you’re no

Alexander the Great.

So you spend your nights not sleeping,

And you wake with

a new blank slate,

Prepared to confront your inevitable fate.