I am okay as long as I do not remember,
raise my hands high in complete surrender,
to everything that has once been,
and is now incarcerated securely within.
I am the reigning queen of dissociation,
broach the topic and I will devastate the nation,
with a surge of flames so scathingly hot,
I am the first to burn, and shrivel, and rot.
Do not speak to me about it, please –
it tickles and teases this gut-wrenching disease,
that feasts on me from the inside out,
lacing each fibre with finely smeared doubt.
When your lips seal and you settle on a stare,
I am forced to wait, while the effects of this wear,
I sit, I wait, I contemplate,
my status, as bait, to each calamitous trait.