A farce, my pain

Sometimes I wonder As I put pen to paper, Will you be sentences Spelling perfection, Or smudges across A page. Will I hide you In my secret box, Ashamed Of what you may have said. Blaming the pen For false starts. Will you sing to me, Wake me With joy, Because I concealed You My truth. These words Your essence, Half lies, Forming paradox. I refuse to read you As I taint this page, Afraid Of the truths I may discover. What right do I have Imprinting My sadness On you. Those few Bitter memories, I feel Deeply, Those smiles I fear. My sorrow Taints you Longingly. I shed my skin, Slowly Revealing My abode. Do you mock my words, Childishly drawn, You, My so called craft. The cure I long considered My last. Do my worries bother you, Or do I Fall With the rest of Long stories, Over-indulgent Bitter pain, A farce.