Down the rabbit hole I go,
a spiral staircase, broken and solitary.
Forced to confront the hidden truths in the depths of my soul.
Unworthy. Unloved. Undesired.
Believing the lies that I tell myself,
that others tell me.
Not in their words but in their actions.
Light streams through the tattered holes
in this dark psyche I exist in.
The truth reaches for me, shines on me,
tells me I’m not alone.
I turn away,
comfortable in my fear,
the falsehoods clinging to me.
It’s easier to believe the lies, than confront the truth.
Wrapping them around me like a cold blanket ,
shivering in the darkness.
My familiar companion.
Teardrops freeze on alabaster cheeks,
hardened by the years
of viral programming.
Who will save me?
No one can save me.
I am the only one who can save me.
But I am weak.
Or so I tell myself.
Who is this broken soul,
with in the traumas
Shards of mirrored perceptions,
twisted to accommodate the fear and chaos
and flimsy illusion of the ego,
litter the barren ground.
“You are loved, beloved,”
the voice sings to me
in the dark recesses,
bathing me with light and truth.
It hurts, the truth,
voices of the angels.
It’s too much, too good, I want to believe.
Only I can choose to.