Insincerity Redux

The boy had a memory, not oft spoken of;
it pertained to a past, and unbreakable, love.
His memory was woven deep into his brain,
indelibly—yet it brought with it pain.
Unbreakable love broke down bit by bit
and unbreakable love was now hopelessly split.
He was strangely relieved, at least for his part,
but she was hurt deeply, stabbed right through the heart.

And so all around himself, in reaction,
he built up a wall to prevent interaction.
An insincere nature refined and developed;
he feared to again be so fully enveloped.
Somewhere inside him he still was sincere,
but did not reveal it when others where near.
He had that side left that he tried to suppress,
afraid what might happen if it was expressed.

But deeper inside him, he was ashamed,
and before he could stop it, shame kindled a flame.
When alone, he could do and say things that he'd never
do or say un-alone; those ties had been severed.
He could write down his thoughts in forms such as this,
And attempt to traverse that dismal abyss.

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