Dare I say how I am really feeling?
Dare I say where my head is properly at?
Dare I utter the words that chase themselves in circles ‘round in my mind?
Dare I answer, honestly, when you ask me how I am?
Dare I confess truth, to the man who sits in a highbacked chair, weighing up my sanity on a scale of one to completley batty?
Dare I admit to how little i am eating?
Dare I admit that the blackness is becoming thicker?
Dare I admit to how entirely iI hate myself?
Dare I ask for help?
I dare not, for who would believe, this charming eloquent sucessful young lady,
is really a little girl, dying inside.
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