Burning Echoes

I have questions. I keep pushing them away and willing them to hide in rooms too small to hold them, and I try to keep them locked behind bars of mist. But the bindings are too weak to hold weak, and so my questions keep escaping, and they play that game they like that I hate. They repeat themselves like echoes bouncing against the insides of my head, they spread their wordy lines into every space inside of me and they are so demanding that they weaken the structure of every cell they come by.

My questions run so deep they have become a part of who I've become. The longer they stay unanswered the stronger they bruise my moldings. But try as I might I can't find their answers. As good as I am with words, as good as I am at looking, seeing and understanding I can't for the life of me find so much as half an answer. I have looked inside of me and I have looked out and around, but I can't find even the tiniest solid clue that might guide me to where my answers might lie.

I have questions that are burning a hole through my character. They burn so hot and strong it's hard for me to be fine. My strength is wavering and shaking beyond belief, it is cracking under the pressure of so much fire and all I can do is watch helplessly as an echo of flame blackens part after part of who I am. Even the hope that I used to use to lull the questions into sleep has run out. I have no more ideas, weapons or solutions. All I have is eyes that fill with endless tears more times a day than I can count. All I have are long sleepless nights holding my chest as tight as I can against the onslaught of echoes.

My questions are consuming me. They don't understand that there are some answers that can't be found until the time is right. They don't understand that we need to be patient. They don't understand that no matter what they do, no matter what games they play, no matter how many tears they make me shed, no matter how strongly they burn and hurt me they won't find their answers. They don't understand that the reason I haven't been giving them what they want is because right at this moment, what they want doesn't even exist yet.

.. I have questions. And they keep blistering their echoes inside of me. They are stubborn and silly. They belong to that part of me that has been so hurt it regressed into a little child. I have questions that don't care how much they hurt -they keep on screaming why, how and when with every "Lub" of my heart, and they send some of their fire out in tears that run out with every blink of my eyes.