On all those nights you left.
I have felt.
I have wept.
I have slept.
And I have dreamt.
Of the day that I was swept.
Into your warmth once more.
But I was taught at the age of 9.
That the world doesn’t always shine.
I was taught at the age of 10.
To wrap my arms around myself and pretend.
I was taught at the age of 11.
That you are really gone, but not forgotten.
And Im just now learning at the age of 26.
That this hole you left in me, can’t be fixed.
No matter how hard I try to burn my lungs with smokes and screams.
They remain empty of life and full of your genes.
Yes, you left me with a monster.
But I taught myself how to breathe underwater.
At the age of 18.
Is when I finally saw the different shades of darkness, and on them I started to lean.
This world is vast.
And the time is running fast.
But I am standing here haunted by your past.
I am standing still.
But I know the drill.
Keep yourself busy and feel the thrill.
Feel the blood rushing through your veins.
Feel the skies pouring life when it rains.
The life you took away from me.
The day my heart started beating faintly.
I curse that day.
But I am thankful for it anyway.
It made me who I am, in its own fucked up way.