In my poetry

So in my poetry it always
Sounded like I knew
But the truth is I can lie to myself in a few
Many ways.

Coping mechanisms they call it
Like it’s something we need to survive
So the truth won’t cut as a knife
But as quite deniable bruises

But in my poetry I want you to see
Some form of truth has land
And I’ll confess I have no idea

I can repeat it endlessly
But no words can make me understand
That you are no longer with me