"Secrets" - A Prose Poem, by Denicia Jones

After weekends of indulging in your secrets, I never thought that we would become one. They were the type of secrets that forced me to hide behind the shadows of my own darkness, hoping that when the sun retired for the day, the moon would not find the secrets hidden behind the layered crevices of my soul. Then I stopped hoping and asked myself, if the sun always retreats beyond the boundaries of the clouds when it catches a glimpse of me,
Does the sun still shine?
If everyone has been enticed by the majestic-ness of its never-ending rays, except for me,
Does the sun still shine?
Indulging in your secrets for so long has distracted me from the walls that were inching down.
The hour long releases in conjunction with the loss of all basic abilities, has highlighted the joys of my life in the same pink, blue, green, and purple sharpies that solidify my need for a lack of control.
The periodic blackouts and momentary losses of reality have become compulsory. My reality lives in my mind’s ambiguity, and manifests in the search for myself.
If no one but me knows the depths to which my dependence on your secrets exists, why should I try to find myself?
If the world bathes me with power and dries me off with success, why should I limit the influence your secrets have on me, and sacrifice one of my only sources of delight for a quest that may result in only more loss…?