All I see is bad intentions,

in the faces of the ones I love the most

in their voices when they talk to me

around me, over me.

All I see is bad intentions

I hear them, in the hushed whispers of

conversations that take place when I’m not in the room.

Secret messages encoded

cryptic, hieroglyphic

scripted.

I listen,

cloaked in my insecurities

masked in contentment.

All while I scream in silence.

All I see is bad intentions.

Wishing that I could kill off my anxieties

knowing that is so deeply embedded in me.

I hate myself for this.

De Marie

Daydreamin' Poet

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