I like writing little cringe poems sometimes

Like the countless times before I once more sit in my house. For a second, time is disorted and I am not who I was nor who I am but who I used to be. The shell sheilding those memories and emotions cracks and shatters once more. No matter how long I hide reality will show its truth, how long can I delude myself? My head hurts. Time stops my hands feel dry, I have reverted to the afraid child i once was and eventually tears roll down my face.
I reach my hand out but there is no one there. If there was I'd pull my hand back anyway in fear of their disappearance. Cries of my child self echo in my head and their thoughts break me futher. Thoughts so loud they feel real, as my child self I want to think back to a time where I had someone holding me. A time where I wasn't arfraid and my worries were washed away by the comfort of someone who knew the world more. But you were never there. I think about that and I think about how I still don't have what I've wanted.

I think of that and I think of how I'll never get what I want. To me it's my fate to be left, a fate that I cant control or change. My oh so hated fate.

I no longer care of its result,
To simply be held is enough.
Even if it's you that crushes me in the end.
Even if it's me crushes myself.

If no one is by my side my existance has perished.
Am I alive if someone doesn't tell me I'm alive.
...I wonder
Is it better to suffer than to live as if I am dead.

I'm scared of the end.

If it ends I will fall and rot like a log in the forest.
Unable to move.
Unable to live.

I hold a fear close to me, failure it is.

In the shape of the sharpest needle.
Its silver point hurts and its thread wraps.
What do I do when failure cuts off my circulation?
What do I do when failure perices me for the last time?

This white thread has stained into a red hue.
I'm now wrapped in a cacoon of failure.
A cacoon of failure that will never evolve into a butterfly.

Cheese for when your hungry warmth for when you're cold.
A mouse that is never taught to survive with other mice can only wish for these two things.

Such a small frail creature, just as myself. It's no doubt it can't survive on its own.
But the comfort of your mouse trap soothes me.

Put me in snow for warmth.
Feed me poison out of love.
Kill me before you abandon me for I want to die beliving delusion is truth.

This comfort in the shape of a wooden plank with metal atached.
Mouse knows hopes are forever to be destroyed with reality.
Deluision knows its truth.
Silver will soon snap down on wood leaving the mouse paralized and lifeless.

This is simply the fate of mouse.