feeling unreal
I don't feel what I feel while writing when I'm living life Potency, maybe that which poetry breeds Sometimes what I feel when I purposefully breathe It makes me think about when I dream And it feels more real than when I try to speak Why do I fail to carry that feeling with me? Do I feel most real in the deepest of lies In the silence of my imagined tragic disguise Built upon false sorrow that colored me wise Surprise, I'm doubting that which my feeling relies Because I feel nothing when I look at blue skies So I create fiction of a tortured mind To have something profound that I can call mine And to feel connected to you when you sympathize I wrote this the other day; finished it the next So tell me why I no longer relate to the text It elevated me to see me at my best Just the act of writing allowed me to rest To reset and pivot, my passions collect At the behest of my tragedy; now just a pest