Of foolish valour that has met its fall, brewed in apathy
Some to the self, most by the nearest and dearest that hurt worse
Such a premise is a facade, for deep in the heart is lone
Every step away from it spans tendrils, of fear and the mind is masterful
The mind is after all a fear mongering self defeating persistent vice
That grips a life in it's victimising claws, feeding it self doubt
This erudite seeks to run, yet pretends to stand his ground
The only respite could be an undoing, of events that have long gone
Amnesia maybe, selective, partial, complete, or even insanity could help
Yet none of those can ever happen to the all prepared, all godly, charading erudite
I know this, you do too, yet we both pretend this is acceptably fine
I have neither the wish to engage, nor the wish to not
Such plight is the blight of the audacity I exhibit, unwantedly and ever
In my cries there is no help warranted, visibly yet there is
You can hear it, if you choose to not see me as infallible, but you reinforce it
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