I always hear that I'm special. You always wanted me to be "special." I could open up my veins for you, and you would still spit out rusty compliments.
I'd bite my nails off because you hated them more than you hated yourself. You'd take me on endless journeys that always led back to your ****** up dreams. I was the key to the box you couldn't open. I was the grasp you couldn't get on reality.
You told me you loved the way I got goosebumps whenever you played with my hair. You said the glint in my eyes when I saw you was mesmerizing.
Goosebumps turned into bruises.
Glints turned into winces.
I found the letters I wrote you in your eyes. I found my heart in your hands. I found my pride in your smile.

My sanity was my home,
And now it's burning to the ground.
They tell you to find what you love,
And to do it.
My problem is that I found somebody to love.
The tragedy in that is that,
Romance is the storm that tears apart our hearts,
And drags us away from being our own creation.
Leaving us to stand in the disaster
of mixed emotions and dependency,
that shouldn't exist.
My home is now floating on
an ongoing river, recklessly.
A river in the desert,
A place a river doesn't belong.
Some might say the river is a blessing,
but can you really say it's not odd
to let a river in the desert guide you to a place unknown?
Should you really trust the promising looks of a surface,
although you know there are countless secrets,
hidden deep below?
Everyone drowns, in the end.