Belle Morte

When your life in itself is changing
And you find yourself hanging on
To a life you did not even like before
Even situations to you that seemed wrong

I’m lie-in in bed trying to tell you
But I can’t seem to get across
This desperate feeling I have in my chest
This knowledge that I’m frighteningly lost

But I think it’s coming together
The words start to fill themselves in
A ghost writer who’s developed a bond
With the secrets and demons within

There’s one demon I’ve found in particular
That I’ve always deeply tried to hide
A part that rears an ugly head
A part which I’ve always denied

The words are coming harder now
But this story I have to tell
How I’ve structured a whole new level
A perfectly handmade hell

I find that my muscles are tensing
Vibrating with their own need to run
But now’s not the time, it’s inconvenient
I have to get this out, have to tell someone.

I don’t know how you would handle it
As you’ve always buckled before
Ran away from what I’ve tried to tell you
I don’t think I can take it anymore

I don’t think just yet I can finish it
I’m not even sure that I want you to see
For what happens the next time that I come round
And you looked at me differently…?

Well the thng that was bugging me has gone, but i don't feel i can just delete this poem. I'll just have to write a second one descibing the change.