Vent

So hard it is to tell you,
But even harder is the vexation inside.
Incredibly hard it is to lose you all,
Even harder it is to lose myself.
Akin to a whirlpool,
Gobbling me up,
Is the alter ego inside.
I beg to find the reason, strive to stop it,
Only to find it is to no avail.
Preposterous does everyone find my turmoil,
No pillars to support this formation.
A single one can’t stop quintals and tons,
For it is only a matter of time,
Before it turns to nil.
This timorem, vexating and perturbing,
How long, I wonder, would it stay silent,
Waiting for the time of it’s life.
Does it even have a life, I wonder?
Maybe it sure does, for it sure has a voice.
A voice defying me.
A stranger inside.
Bizzare it is for all,
A dread invoker it is, for me.
A pillar for the dark side, it remains,
Pushing me to quit, to stop.
Quitting is the absolute bliss,
Remains its ultimate banal.
Maybe it is, sometimes I wonder.
A single mind is prone to brainwash.
Maybe multiple aren’t?
Since the stranger can only talk to me.
Stigmatism remains another.
Invoking terror, fear of abandonment.
So I fill the bottles and keep doing it
With the hope they never run out.
But like all, everything does.
So one day, when neither
This stranger nor me are around,
The pillars to a fallen formation weep,
Only to realize it is already too late.