The Epic And Long-Overdue Breakdown Poem by Donna Dolorical

There is a pattern to it all.
A pattern to my deceitful and quiet anarchy
A code of sorts, but easily breakable
If only anyone is watching me closely-
A code, secret and unwilling.
A reluctant, nay, defiant call for help.

The ultimate reason I let no one close.
The ultimate reason I flee from watchful eyes.

Help, somebody.
Anybody.
Help me not.

It's a viscious and highly obvious circle,
This seasonal cycle of
Opening and closing
Of letting in and shutting out
Of engaging and disengaging
Anyone staying long enough would notice it
But then.
I don't.
I never stay long enough.

I am dysfunctional.
Self-contained and self-destructing.
Pathologic.
Sometimes I think I need to be locked away.
Just not yet.
Not while they're still living.

Perhaps someday.
When they're gone.
Once my debts start dying unpaid.
Then I'll lock myself away.

And no one will have to care.
No one would give a damn.
And my patterns wouldn't have to be encrypted

Anymore.