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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The question is, who is to blame? I often ask myself this question with no other thought than to torment myself. I have always concluded to admit (though it is a straight-out lie) that I am to blame. I am the cause of these insecurities…these torments…these infernal thoughts—my literal insanity. A part of me actually believes that lie! I am in awe. Can you fathom such a thing? A lie that I know is in fact a lie is so deeply strung in the recesses of my brain as to lead me to believe that is IS the truth! I am to blame. Why justify this lie into ostensible innocence and truth? Who the hell do I have to convince!? I think I mean to torment myself to the grave…I have justified many a lie for that sole purpose. On the pedestal the lie rises and engulfs the spirits, taking with her the very pride and dignity I pretend to promote. But what is the pleasure in a lie when there is no one to lie to but yourself? So I lie today and every day. I write hour upon hour of useless words that I, in all of my nothingness, can only appreciate to its fullest. And I laugh when somehow through the valleys of mendacity, a raw truth emerges. It has many eyes and many ears. It can be tasted that someone…someone out there has been convinced. I remember my wife was holding our child I had just lashed out at her, Had beat her to the core With the brutality of my merciless words She was trapped in the fury of my hellish present, Sucked up in the very heart of it What haunts me the most… Was how calm the baby was through it all There she was in hysterics, Literally out of breath in her own sobs, Clutching my daughter’s little hand In her feeble, sorrowful embrace She looked into her eyes The child was looking straight into her soul I paused from my torturing and watched, As that serene child never looked away From the globes of her mother’s eyes Straight into her pain-filled life, Trapped in the ugly, sticky redness of her sagging cheeks I wonder how one so young Could even bear looking into the face of raw sorrow That void was beyond me… That child that day…was not my own A crack of a smile appeared on her face and I completely lost it She enjoyed her mother’s sorrow! She enjoyed it… If she could only see me now… How happy—how happy that child would be
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