To my complete disappointment,
I'm overcome by weakness.
I plead the fifth amendment
In an attempt of avoiding the distress
That would come with telling the truth.
Despite these statements
That seem to mock me thoroughly,
I still dream of contentment.
I still hope for something that would, hopefully,
Fuel my need to feel important.
It is unstoppable, though -
The turbulence growing inside me;
The constant fear that seems to consume my very being.
My importance would soon disintegrate
Into thoughts that bash me for feeling conceited
And would eventually convert to self-loathing.
When asked why I feel this way,
My thoughts turn to the repetitive,
Yet somewhat lucid-inducing phrases of,
"What to reply?"
"It's really nothing, don't worry,
It'll all be over soon.
It comes and it goes,
Just like you may do too."
