That cut that runs along

my wrist; it has a story

to tell.



That mark that I have on

my waist; it has a history

that scares me.



That blemish that covers

my collarbone; it makes

my soul cold.



And all the scars on

my body, refuse to fade

just like those memories.



The faces of those monsters,

what they did to me,

still haunts me.



These scars never fail in

reminding me of the horror

behind them.

Will it be too much
if I ask you to see through my smile;
if I ask you to look into my eyes
and see the pain that lies deep within them?

What happened to us? Was it my mistake?

So close we were just a few months before,
and look at what we’ve become now.
We said that we would never change,
together we promised to stay, always.

What happened to us? Was it my mistake?

Loads of ego there is in both of us;
not ready to bend, either of us.
Days pass by and I still wait for you to call;
I wonder, “Do you wait for me too?”

What happened to us? Was it my mistake?

People ask me about you, how you’ve been;
“We don’t talk anymore,” is all I say.
For what else can I say now?
Is there even anything left of us?

What happened to us? Was it my mistake?

Anything I’d do now to get back
again; what we once had.
Everything we’ve been through
still makes me wonder-

What happened to us? Was it my mistake?

Oh so tired I am,
can’t wait to go to bed
and, put my aching heart
to rest.

I close my eyes, and
dream my way
into a deep sleep,
so peaceful and calm.

I fall deeper and deeper
into the dark abyss of unknown,
never to come back again,
never to open my eyes again.

It’s been a year
since we met.
Here’s to more.

I close my eyes, hoping
that you’ll be here
when I open them,
but you’re not.

So many plans we have
for the day when we’ll be
right in front of each other,
for the very first time.

We used to stay up late
just so that we could talk.
Kept making plans all night long
for the day when we’ll meet.

A year it’s been.
There’s more to go
before we can
see each other.

An immense amount of patience
our relationship requires.
Time tries to separate us,
but fails so pathetically.

There’s no label for
what we have.
So pure and innocent it is
what we have.