I've seen the talented sun burn through the souls of a thousand talented men,
So I hide in the dark but it's only in hopes that I won't have to see it again.
And I've sat on deserted highways waiting for construction to finish up,
But never through all of this have I said that I've had enough.
Scissors can cut through a wired bomb or the last of the restraints,
But don't take them for granted or you'll end up on your deathbed with nothing to say.
When the story ended the story had no stable place to go,
So he sat on the curb with his head in his hands and decided to call that home.

It seems a bit familiar
This feeling
And expected
Even though I didn't see it coming
But what more can I do?

And what better place to compose poetry
Than behind the wheel of a ****** car
Going twice the speed limit
And half off road

And what better way
To celebrate
The scars
And the fact that God won again
Than to cry tears without feeling
Anything at all?

How can I even be mad?  
You cried, too.
Less, but that's given -
That I expected
Not that I expected anything at all.

But what about Thanksgiving?
What about the place set for you?
And that date to Barnes and Noble
I asked you on months ago?
Who am I kidding, that wouldn't have happened
I only remember it all now
Kissing in the rain
Baking cookies
That money she owed you
Bringing you hot chocolate on the first day it snowed
The way your hips moved against mine
How ecstatic  you made me
And the way I thought I could make you happy too
And the way you seemed happy, in the apple orchard
And when we held each other under the fireworks
On our first date
And that time we talked about the universe and philosophy
And how excited you seemed
That you found someone who understood
Another INTP
A lover worth giving your body to,
Your mind,
Your soul,
Being one with.

I must've imagined it.
I'm crazy, after all.

I told myself I wanted all of her
But I never wanted her blame shifting
Her gaslighting
Her traumatic bonding
Her disorientation
Her playing the victim
Her cruelty
To happen
And it would be easier to cope with
If it actually hadn't.

It would've been easier
If I'd been the crazy one
Because then I might've had the power to fix it
If again I could go back to the time
When I clung to her lap
And she ran her fingers through my hair
And said, "Your head's really ****** up, isn't it?"

If I could go back to my "data acquisition"
And be okay when she refused to give me answers
When she refused to tell me what we were
Or if I meant a thing to her
So I couldn't hold her to expectations
Or have them
Because I meant nothing to her
But she couldn't tell me that until I tried to end it
She just let me say "I love you," and didn't say it back
(Except for the few times she slipped just to keep me trapped).

She told me that it was all in my head
And then that I wasn't imagining anything
In the same paragraph.
She told me she was "over this"
But wouldn't tell me what "this" was
When I was the one crushed under it.
She let me chase that conversation
And played with me
And told me, "You're just going to have to be confused then.
This is my straight forward response.
The truth is, I'm sorry but you will have to deal with it."
But I didn't want to deal with it.
I just had to.
And all I wanted was the truth
But I still don't have it
And I don't know how it can stare her in the face
And she can still deny it

I don't get how she can torture me for months
And not have the decency to say, "Yeah, I did it,"
So I can rest.
I don't get why I still need her validation
Why I still tried so desperately to get it
Why the army behind me isn't enough

But it has to have something to do with her saying,
"I am not your ex. I am nothing like your ex.
You need to be able to collect the data in front of you and dissociate from past trauma.
Seriously,"
Every time I tried to defend myself from her actions
Until I stopped trying because I was too busy trying to analyze my own
Or, "You tell me all your thoughts,
I go through them with you
Confirming. Or. Denying."
Like she was the omniscient authority
The objective standard by which the validity of my feelings and perceptions were measured.

I think it's because
It'd be easier to cope with
If it hadn't actually happened,
So I convinced myself it wasn't happening
And I'm still struggling to believe it.
It'd be easier
If it was all in my head
Because then I'd have something to be certain of
(Even if it was only my uncertainty)

And I wouldn't have to admit to myself
That I was in love with a sociopath.
I wouldn't have to wonder
Whether or not she did it on purpose.
I wouldn't have to face the fact that I feel abused and broken
And empty
And like there's a hole in me I'm not sure how to fix
That I allowed to be drilled there.

I very well felt possessed by the hatred that overcame me
Quite a drastic change from that echo of desire
If I could just believe in heaven I’d feel compelled to segregate my soul
Because nothing could be divine in the absence of a fire

My fear is extinguished by your touch
Your body remains in memory, consumed
Abandoned by your blood - a poison yet to desecrate
As though you are the first to feel deception
The first to be overwhelmed by anger
The first to have an animal tear through your skin from inside
But remain chained to your heart
Cursed to wander in your shadow
Or else rip it out
Or else remain suppressed and sleep
Which is in its nature?

They call her morbid but I call her bright -
The last stand of the sun before oncoming night.
They call my bluff and so I will remain
In the space between caring and going insane.
Amid calculations and long drawn out notes
There’s a couple of words that reveal what she knows;
And it seems I must skip them so I don’t invade
Though she may not believe me since I’ve turned the page.

What kind of person
Asks to be a muse?
A sick kind of person; a sadist
But I suppose I like that
Because I keep finding them.

It’s something you can’t attain
But want more than life
That creates art.
What kind of person would want anyone
To hurt that badly?

Do you think she’ll witness my downfall
When she goes to hell?
Do you think she’ll feel the anguish of empathy?
Do you think she’ll find a way to introspect
Instead of projecting?
That would cause her suffering.
I won’t be grouped in with fools
Who discharge ressentiment
With dreams of those who’ve wronged them
Suffering more than they have...
But I know it must discharge somewhere.
What constrains me?
The stunted superego
Suffocates the id
Holds it down and kicks it;
A child beaten
Tells itself
It doesn’t want to hurt its family
Until the day it’s realized
That it can’t.
And then, its spirit broken
Lays dormant, a pressure cooker
Tells itself it doesn’t want to rise
To cope with having fallen.
It stays silent and still long after left
Alone.
Retreated so far into itself
That now it fails to recognize
The threat is gone –
The abuse goes on
Long beyond it’s ended.
She told me she loved my poetry,
That I inspired her to write
About her father.
I should have seen it coming then
It was no different from before -
I let myself be used again
I have no excuse.

Well I said, “Are you sure,”
And you said, “Doesn't matter,”
But I can't seem to remember what that means
So I didn't look back
And I spent all your money
On a tank full of gasoline

When that had run out I left my last measly dime
In a cab out on first street where I left my mind
In a cheap motel room with a **** who would find
I'd be gone in the morning, not a dollar behind
She'd be paid in a song that she's too good to hear
On an old mixed tape for the next one

Well I have to say I believed every word
And remember your face turning gray when you heard
That I'd be leaving next Tuesday but soon would return
And you needn’t wait up for long

All the ******* you spat about loving your life
And the stories of your ex at home sharp’ning the knife
I can’t say I wasn't convinced but you had a few tells
I was too dumb to see

Now I'll make a living staring out at the pier
Writing dumb ****** songs of how it was with you here
And you can find someone who has common sense
And  find out just how much they'll put up with
But when the curtain falls and our time has run out
Maybe backstage again you'll let me taste your mouth
But just in the corner so no one can see
When you're in the “bathroom” and I'm being me

And I wonder if I'll ever write a love song again
And if what we had was just a lie
Or if maybe she wears better lipstick than me
Or if there's anything special you see in her eyes

Does she write you poetry and let you read it?
Does she draw a little worse than you?
Can she keep up with words like “perception” and know something’s wrong like I used to?

Or does she just not mind when you're high?
Does she not even care what you do in your life?
Does she give you pills with poison inside
And tell you that it'll be fun?
Well she's the one, isn't she
She's a real ******* keeper
You don't ever let her go
Because that's what you want, someone who doesn't care
And I'm not sure of the point when I started to know

Should I be gone tomorrow if my being has run its course -
A mind confined to caged in skin and basking in remorse
Should self hatred and pity take its toll on empty hearts
I fear what ever fault I am is prepared to embark
On a journey through the pain and bliss I allowed to control
Every broken primal movement taken hostage by my soul
I won’t be missed, only dismissed as love that I might take
It burns through me to think it, but no worthy heart would break

“Second place…”
“Everyone feels.”
“Get out of your room.”
“…. Intensive therapy…”
“I’m a bad person.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How does it feel?”
“How did it feel?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I love you.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You’re not enough.”
“… People like that…”
“Is that why the world is so sharp you cut yourself on it?”
“What do you want?”
“You want me to be something I’m not.”
“I hate you.”
“Why won’t you let me hold you?”
“Are you up?”
“It hurts.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“I’m scared.”
“I don’t think I can help you.”
“Are you okay?”
“… Going through the tunnel…”
“You can listen to my records.”
“So that’s why it’s me who ends up the cause of everything that hurts you.”
“Can I help?”
“Fight back.”
“I’m busy.”
“Sure, honey.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry.”
“… When I cut…”
“It’s not okay.”
“I care about you.”
“What did you mean?”
“I punched the wall in my bedroom.”
“Go take a walk.”
“I’m bleeding.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Has the counselor talked to your parents about a hospital yet?”
“Crazy people are beautiful.”
“Drop it.”
“Stop being so cryptic.”
“I don’t know how to love you either.”
“Why do you treat me this way?”
“What’s going on?”
“… Like I’m nothing…”
“It makes it feel worthless that I’m a kind person.”
“Then nothing’s going to change.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You’re so brilliant it hurts to think you might waste it.”
“You have to keep trying.”

I cut my heart into stanzas and tainted fragments with your name
Written on skin with shaking hands disconnected and insane
But I found it weak and fleeting; washed your ashes down the drain
Developed bruises where I’d scrawled so hard it hurt — but I liked it.

Disillusioned and dysfunctional she murmured, “Have you loved before?”
I was thinking, yes, but gasped out, “no,” so she wouldn’t worry more
What she might have felt settled in me; I shook, unhinged indefinitely
Had you held my heart?  Or did you break it from a distance?

I’ve given up on order.  It’s just subdued the chaos.
I’ve given up on life, but I’ve stayed here all the same.
He asked me if I wished to die — so I said, “Yes, but that’s not why.”
I’d done it so he’d notice; I’d done it so he’d care.

Quite obscure and rough, I think, but I’ll teach you to love it
Sometimes less is more, y’know — sometimes I’m tired of it
Simple words can break you down like simple blades you’ve lost and found
That missed the mark and fell apart to leave a scar above it.

Every move I make feels as though I leave my skin behind,
Stripped raw and left to be criticized.
Every word she speaks drives to my core to brand it
And reminds me of her brilliance.
I can't readily command it
But without her I would feel nothing.

Is it good enough to say I'm sorry?
Because it hasn't been before
And I have lost trust in the system
That's held me down and will keep me down more.

There's a little bit of anticipation
And even more fear of demise;
I just can't help but be afraid of
The colors in your eyes.

Well the rhetoric stands and I stand accused:
I'm a bit out of practice and I'm a bit too into you.
I have way too much to say and not enough time
But I can't help it, "I'm yours, what's mine?"

They call us hopeless romantics
And sometimes we get lost
In far too general opinions
And far too many far-away thoughts.

First time I saw her she was on a balcony
Like Romeo and Juliet.
I wish I never looked away from the stage
'Cause last time I saw her she was dead.

Now that you know more about me than I do about you,
It's about time for a second glance.
You can just relax and regret and I'll turn your head
Whenever I think I'm something worth seeing.

I'm flawed; there's a few remnants of abuse
And I'm not very good at saying sorry
But I already love you more than you do -
And if that's not enough I'll try even harder
I already feel your pain more than you can
And if you disagree I'll say I lied.
Anything but, "You're yours, I'm mine."

Such a delicate specimen should not be as humble
As to refer to her own talents with such nonchalance.
As though they are none more passionate than that which
I had allowed to spiral out of control
And lead my mind to an early grave.

Such beautiful words must be just only reflected
By any mirror which she glances away from guiltily;
Or perhaps by the glass, having been shattered,
And having been spread along the path
From which she simply refuses to stray.

I have heard her stanzas; her lines; her words,
And yet isolated they lose their bite.
The truth she speaks is far more prominent than that of my own,
As though the words have been ripped from he mind and laid raw,
But far more artful and complex.

Her beauty I can not even begin to fathom
Although she speaks of it as though it is simplistic.
She calls herself a realist, but she's anything but real.
Not in my mind, at least - nothing so ideal could exist;
Nothing so worth living for could waste its time on me.

Every fault she has, every word she's spoken out of context;
Every word she has neglected to speak for lack of time;
Every sound she's suppressed for lack of understanding -
It's enchanting to me - much more enticing than it would be
Had she articulated it to perfection and engraved it on her skin.

Nothing I pile on paper could fully describe her -
Not my harsh words; not the dulled mutterings in my veins.
Credit could only be granted successfully by her own hand,
And yet she does not see it - she is blind to her own brilliance.
So perhaps my only purpose is to show it to her and make her understand.

Upon observing the horizon
Shades and colors all gray-scale,
I noticed its affinity for her skin
When it's stained red.
And the mountains looking down on me
From the apex of the clouds-
Their beauty caused a callous haze
That almost made me forget.
The way she stood on stage in spotlight,
Awaiting the gradual fade to black
But never ceased her preaching
Even when the curtains fell.
The way the artificial lighting
Caught her eyes avoiding mine;
She wasn't happy, but still,
She smiled when compelled.

Compassion sits at the core of me
And doesn't wholly disperse.
My brain can't fully function
In the shadow of desire.
I could evaluate her absence
But not feel the slightest hurt-
I haven't grasped it yet;
I think she'll appear when required.
They eased us out of it, you see,
Those silhouettes hung over me,
The doubts encompassing my mind
Compensated with her death.
With age heightens indifference;
Every moment contrives distance
From the little girl who broke
At the thought of his regret.

Salt can burn, dear.  It can burn like a fire.
But I’ll sift through the ashes you’ve left on the pyre
And we’ll see if there’s substance or something to do
Because, yes, salt can burn, but can’t it heal too?

I can feel fear for you when it’s working both ways
When I feign so invested I can’t feel the pain
Try to make myself matter; try to make myself care
But when you beg me not to, I rest hardly there.

I can’t tell; I can’t grasp; you hold emotion back
You should push me away - are you too weak for that?
Hold me at arms length or stop all I think
Are you ******* with me?  Am I ******* with me?

‘Cause I feel disconnected but I know I might die
If you break our contact or can’t meet my eye
If there’s any doubt then should we find out?
What happens when I’m right?

I know most while here don’t think about their epitaphs,
But I’d like something on my stone to make your future lovers laugh -
You can tie me in a short black dress to lay my body down below
Have me face down so you can’t see the sunburn; call me beautiful.
I can’t attest to any wave that didn’t make me stutter
But remember swearing at the sea to try to make it pull me under.
Not another soul existed, ‘twas only she and I -
But we merged to one and every sun stopped fast to watch my alibi.
The moon was steady, gaze was hot but her winds were running cold
And they bore down on the mountains till those couldn’t help but fold;
They bowed before her, bent and broke, their last moments so tall
And I only glanced, intruding, trying just to understand it all.
I don’t believe they knew that she was cause of all the pressure
Only thought she let them rise again and fight the falling, fresher;
But my learned eye had far more sight than any man could see -
I imagine this she found a threat when her light was washing over me
So when I drifted further out, intent to meet them ‘fore they died
And floated in them aimlessly, I saw up front their sacrifice.
She spoke to me, “A stagnant sea would mean a certain death,”
Claimed ends would justify the means so long as she was still at rest.
To her I called, “You’re above it all, but the pull’s more than the push,
And I know what waits for me at shore but your nature leaves me in no rush.”
And now you’ll find me, stiff and damp and stinking of decay
But at least I got to end before my living body felt that way.

Well you’re the mistaken heart; the martyr; the sinner
Who died for her cause and the title Beginner -
Now don’t you feel bad just because I know where my place is.
Went straight from, “You’re brilliant,” to, “Oh, you’re so selfish,”
Weren’t there for the beatings and ignored the clauses
That suggested you’re more than a page on my bookshelf
Or the smiles that told you I hate it.

Now there’s tragedy - yes, a break in the story -
Her fear of loss makes her lose.
But she doesn’t care because she’s lost nothing
Besides a spinning string
That bent away from everything
Which tried to tie it still

She lost seams and innocence in passion;
It used to hurt when she bothered to mention
But now I’m immune and just imagining the next chapter.
I can’t even feel the body I’m touching;
Eyes try to catch mine but I’m thinking of nothing.
Seems I’m not good enough again
When I am compared to a pastor.

I tried to stop it but you’re just a memory
That resonates more like a nightmare.
It’s fading fast and losing credit -
Sorry, I don’t care.
You’ll be fine.

Dost thou still want it?
This that beats for you?
This that stutters only for you, in every sense of the word?
But what are words?
I've yet to see prose that taught me rhythm,
Just as I've yet to see love that taught me to love.
By God, I hate the lies that come with love -
I hate the joy that comes with love, when t'has left me -
But then how can I love love?
That Cupid's wings are clipped I swear to know;
Then how to take a poisoned shot from below
Without flinching?
Aye, that glorified hunter,
He is not a lover's friend
And it is not he that crafted this;
It is not he who fights for this;
It is not he who chooses if his wound
Is cauterized by your touch
Or is fatal.
Such an unsteady ***** is the heart,
Always frantic;
Always too quick or else too stagnant
But 'tis our driving force that pulls us back
In more ways than one.
Mine is yours if yours is mine
And he cannot claim the key -
Not if you give it to him to hold.
Because the key is not just in the necklace
You wear to sleep and wear to run,
And wear when seams are left undone;
It is your own that holds the shape to cause the click,
And perhaps, if we lay close enough, you'll hear'th it.

When hopeless words escaped your lips
The last, I thought with sudden bliss:
The way a broken heart can feel
When love has beat it tender.
Your eyes fading as limbs all fall
It leaves you but I loved it all;
Tears without the feeling;
Words without the sound.

My love; my loss; my broken mind,
So openly preoccupied -
The heart I left in shreds
To remained tethered to your corpse.
But everybody understands
And no one leaves a helpless man
Or stops speeches muttered to a grave
Infected with remorse.

For a moment you didn't notice
And my fingertips felt the broken ridges on your skin
Then you pulled away, and I could feel your heartbeat in the air -
No one had ever touched you that way, I'm sure
And I was tempted to say, "sorry,"
But then I realized that I wasn't.

Should I have asked permission?
It's the spontaneity, I think, that made it real
There was no filter then between us,
My head on your lap; your hand in my hair
Almost so intimate that it's grating to put in words
Because its meaning is lost in translation.
I never thought I'd write again but the gates have opened
Or, rather, the cracks have burst
So the sourgrass can grow
Like a **** making its living in a parking lot
Struggling against the tar
But always
Always breaking through
Given enough time

What is love.
Can one just walk away?
"Sometimes."
Sometimes?

Under harsh scrutiny she took a stand,
And I watched with a twisted sense of pride.
She was not mine.
Never would she be, and yet I watched her
As though I had the right to be proud.

For I'd touched her porcelain skin before-
The slightest of feathers - that which perhaps she wouldn't notice.
She'd touched mine; she'd tasted mine; she owned mine,
And yet she wasn't committed to it.
Because never had she seen; she was always looking passed me.

Right at the one who would caress that skin,
And then shatter it.
And leave her with a million pieces.
Questions that don't quite fit together.
She knew if she asked enough she'd understand.

But she was quite wrong - very naive, in fact,
He had taken her spine from the rubble.
Never would her mind fit together again,
Stable.
But she'd be ****** to try forever.
To place all the pieces in a pile and watch it fall down.

It won't be very long, you see,
All the tears she let fall to the pavement and go with the rain -
She may hide those from us now
But soon the air will be dry.
And they'll fall again for his absence,
And she'll try to escape him.

You can't run too far without your spine,
With your heart only beating for someone who has died
And left you, to become someone better.
To be with someone better.
You can't win and you very well won't want to.

What do you need me to prove to you?
I said what I meant but didn't mean what I said
The truth is my words escape me in eruptions

They're forced back down and they burn my throat
My heart frays my vocal chords
The ceilings collapse, but the doors slam closed
So nobody seems to notice

What do you need me to say to you?
That you're better than this?
You're not better than this.

Only fifteen minutes, a quarter to the hour
It's not pessimistic, there's no liquid at all
The glass is made to shatter the second it falls.

“Those pretty little stars,”
Their jagged tendrils blinding,
Etched patterns on the water writhing -
You can never see beside me,
Always will strain behind me.
I see all alone.

My spine warped from prostration
I will kneel, passive, before them.
I pray you won’t, callous, contour them -
You shouldn’t even try to look.
Their power straight through my soul shook
A hole.  “Steady the boat.”

I can see the air
I can taste it
Crisp like winter is coming
Harsh like the cinders in a camp fire
I can see the air
The way you can see snow
And clouds
And fog
The way a microscope can see cells
And a lover can see life
In every space
For miles on in every direction
I remember a car crash
I remember my heartbeat in my throat
And my limbs still and silent
The way you're paralyzed in a dream

But I don't remember why
I don't remember the beat of the rain on the windshield
I don't remember the way your lips sat on your face
Expressionless
Like they might not be there
And there wouldn't be a difference
Or the ten dollars I gave you to get a coffee
And the seven dollars and twenty-three cents I wasn't given in change
The properties of the Hinge Theorem
Being your reason for cutting across the lawn
Every time
That red light in your room
In the corner
Barely visible
Barely noticeable, till it was dark and I couldn't sleep beside you
The way I never saw her cry again
After she shut off the tears
That one time
In my basement
The way her mom never said, "I'm sorry,"
And probably never will
Because what do those things matter now?
It's been a year
Maybe two
Time doesn't heal but it dulls the pain
And I guess that must be the same thing
To adults

Words that take moments to say
Take lifetimes to forget.

You wrote him a poem.
Once you said, "I don't write,"
Like I was all that could move your pen,
But then you wrote him a poem.
And maybe this burn would quiet
If I could be grateful
That all the others are for me -
But you wrote one for him
And one's enough
To change everything.

Strikingly cold but warmed from inside,
I need none but my heart — that which weathered the tide
Of the sea, having raised the heart rate of my love,
Her vocal chords murmuring some tune from above
As the foam from the waves covered footprints I’d made
In a sharp, full-blown sprint with the intent to save
A form ready to fall whispering, “Can’t save it all,”
As honest as I’d ever seen her.

Jumped after a breath; put my fangs through her neck
Condemned her to a fate more horrific than death
And she whispered her thanks, a smile on her face;
The impact hurt more than it would have, I’d say.
Broken bodies on rocks like the cars of the city;
Crashing water like blood I kept in to keep busy
I smiled, so broken I couldn’t hold back-
T’was the only thing that had remained intact.

They say love hurts
But who are they?
Longing hurts,
Distance hurts,
Rejection hurts -
That's nothing of love.
Love is the way your eyes look
When you've forgotten your inhibitions;
Love is the way your heart looks
When you strip it bear for me to see,
And the way the relief rests
When I don't turn in disgust -
I ask again, who are they?
There's no need for pain here
There's enough of it to forget already
From everywhere else.
I don't see love as pain
I won't.
I was told once
It's because no matter how close you get to someone
It's not close enough
You can never really touch them
There's always space between your cells
That's the pain?
You can't touch yourself, if that's the case
And that's pain?
I feel closer to you than I do myself
You have taken residence inside my heart
A role inside my brain
And use my veins as roadways
To get to and from work
How fast is a heartbeat?
How omnipotent can one person be?
How could anyone say we don't touch?
You're more of me than I am
Is that pain?
That's completion.

Language is a funny thing:
It twists and turns at ease.
Coveys what you want; what you think;
And what you really need.
But the pronounciated syllables
Conceal who I really am.
I want to speak the words I knew
Before I could understand.

Such a deep, grating pain with such little remorse
Perhaps it’s explained by the pain I have forced
Or emptiness inside me where I used to be packed
It’s contrast - I’m burning; I’m freezing; I’m cracked

Deep in the breeze there’s a misguided longing
Like people I’ve lost or the soul I’ve left wandering
In the jail of my mind - a place void of all feeling
And the love I’ve let go which I’ve taken to stealing

A few words stick out - the ones that might matter
If I’d delete the pronouns; the seeking; her laughter
My passion’s a symptom; my knowledge a curse
Infectious like pollen - easier dispersed

And how do you hear it?  Have I wrote it the same?
Does it seem like you’re touring remnants of my brain?
Or does it simply mean nothing like the person who wrote it?
Either way it’s still hard for my beat veins to hold it.

As a child I used to hide from monsters under my sheets -
They weren’t under the bed, they were in the kitchen.
I could hear the echoes of their whispers curl round the edges of the door.
They‘d often push it open a crack.
I’d pretend to be asleep - that’s where I felt safest;
Sometimes I’d convince myself I really wasn’t conscious.
They’d slither away when they saw no light in my eyes to extinguish.
But they’d always leave the door open.
I used to watch the light from outside fight the shadows
I used to urge it to win.

By the crack of the door
I would crouch and listen  
And what I heard
Was my mother weeping,
“I wish my daughter would change.”
I stayed quiet so she wouldn’t hear me.
Every night, I got quieter still
Until she began to say instead,
“I wish my daughter would speak.”
And I wished I could give her what she wished for
But she didn’t understand
That it had been easy for me to **** her daughter
But seemed nearly impossible to build her a new one.

Things changed for me then -
I grew tired of watching the light try to harness and tame the darkness
(Or maybe the other way around).
I’d before felt things were black and white.
I’d seen the darkness as evil
And longed for the light,
But as time went on I learned that demons lurk in all wavelengths.
I was fickle; I flocked to the winning side.
I became convinced that darkness was safety,
That in it I could project what I wanted.
Then whenever they’d move away from the door
I’d tiptoe to close it.