The beast

A scrawl on the margins of a little red book,
Those endless hours of drudgery- to be educated,
To become a grownup, to forget yourself
And tell the voice in your head to be silent.

Silence. You hold it all back, like a dam-
A dreaded metaphor overused, almost meaningless.
You will let go, Who can you be,
But yourself?

The memory of a friend,
Forever to haunt, forever to remember,
That even an unwavering smile,
Holds beneath a turbulence.

Pointless questions on existence,
Rummaging through cenotaph texts,
Expert discussions with philosophy majors-
Lustrous grandeur, fawned intelligence.

Emptiness. It is right there.
You can't run away, and are afraid to embrace.
Unblemished reflections, edited to fit a fantasy
Which you forever dream of, but can't quite remember.

The beast. It resides within,
Yawning, stretching, scratching itself in anticipation.
Afraid of it, of yourself, and the world at large,
You maintain an arm's distance.

Hands outstretched. Can you trust again?
Hope, believe? You have to; smile at the beast.
Neither can you tame, nor can you set it free,
You watch each other, like old foes who want to be friends.