When I feel the darkness creeping in,
I see the fog fill my vision.

When gravity suddenly becomes too much to bear,
and everything closes in becoming far too small.

When the air becomes thick and heavy,
and nothing can quench my thirst.

There are very few people who have never let me down,
who I never had to fear them leaving my life,
and I want to always be surrounded by them.

There love,
is the only love,
I can not live without.

Everytime I see you,
I can feel your hate,
your jealousy,
green runs through your veins.

You push everyone away,
you make us hate you,
because you love to be miserable.
Nothing pleases you more then being pitied,
you feed off of it.

Always having that hardest life,
the hardest time,
trying to compare everything,
wanting to be the best at something.

If you can not have his love,
at least you can have his attention,
if only for a moment,
the thought of you shadow thoughts of me.

I know how you work,
I've seen it before,
I see your motive,
and your thoughts,
you are no longer a mystery to me.

I reached out an olive branch,
even after all the pain you put me though,
and you lit it on fire.
Watching the flames dance,
as your face lit up with glee,
you hurt me again.

I now battle with my own demon,
hatred,
I can not rememmber the last time it reared its ugly head,
but I promise,
I will stop wasting,
my energy,
on you.

Fingerprints,
from a past lover,
cover every inch of my body.
Every place has been explored,
and exposed.

Cuts and bruises,
scars from pain,
left by my family,
they ache when I am reminded of them.

Broken bones,
from people I once trusted,
to catch me when I fell,
let me slip through their fingers.

My past has left me marked,
my past has left me tattered and worn,
my past has left me broken.

A tight squeeze,
reassuring me that he is still there,
and everything will be okey.
Looking at the hands,
interlocked.
Hands that will wither,
and grow old,
together.

A slap on the back,
slightly harder than intended,
letting me know it was all in good fun.
Reassuring me that this friendship is real,
and valued.

A little hand in mine,
holding tightly,
as we weave through people.
I am telling him that he is safe,
with me.

Rough hands help me off the ground,
like they have numerous times before,
they are always there for me,
catching me whenever I fall.

Hand tell stories words can not,
they convey emotions that are ineffable.
Where words fail,
hands sing.