Heretic Weeping

An intensely angry expression of self hate
That lives mostly amongst the silence.
The sense of home has passed
Like the dependability of a liar/savior.
I turn once more to a so-called “talent”
That only comes during moments of remission;
I want you most when I need you least.
You need me never.
Lost like I
a/k/a insignificant.
Like the false sleep
Of a medicated insomniac.
I awake to the sound of voices,
All 100,000 of me
Screaming into a hole in the ground
With only me at the bottom
Or is it a snake pit?
What do you gain
From your voyeurism?
What do I gain
From mine?

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