It’s hard for me to walk into the smoldering fire,
when I already know what the burn feels like.
But, sometimes, I fall between the cracks
and the void covers me in ashes.
Now, I sense the rush
of days catapulting into night
and I’ve become accustomed to the darkness.
Lies cut sharper than a knife,
but I find solace in a moon
that discretely shares secrets
and the truth.
When lies just crumble in the dark,
trying to hide,
blurred and out of focus,
distorted and delusional,
when truth is pixelated
and stars intoxicated,
I pretend
to move on,
with a heart
that’s been altered,
edging towards the light,
but, in truth,
I’ve become accustomed to the dark.
© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.
