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