i've never known what to do with myself. i carried my heart away in the storms you raised and i called myself your son, but only in name; but, oh, what a name. fear, fear in the eyes of men until they see me a mere boy a child, playing at games he knows nothing of, like he had a choice, and two brothers to hide secrets he pretended not to know. and he never knew what to with himself, because it never mattered: everything was already decided long before the day he was born, on the day where the house was empty, and nothing had yet begun. he set everything in motion. i became a catalyst for a game i played from behind the scenes, and let the main characters take the stage.
you always belonged in that light; i'll make sure you never see the shadows.
what kinda nerd *** ******* is writing character poems
i am not irredeemable. there are permanent marks on people i've known, left by the wars they fought against me; i have done more wrong than i can ever remember, or begin to repair. there are people for whom i'm a monster, and i know the validity of that claim -- but i am not irredeemable. does the sky ruin itself with storms? does the earth make itself unholy with every quake and eruption? i have struck with lightning, and been struck in return but i am not all magma and thunderheads. i am clear skies and gentle showers; i am c calm tides, and soft grass. i am not irredeemable.
how time changes things. i used to believe that the old saying about how time heals all wounds was a lie; it turns out, i just didn't have the patience for recovery. i was running in circles in my own mind, pretending that i had no other choice. how frustrating that the light was always in reach, but time heals all wounds even for me.
i still don't know what happened. i wonder if you even remember us; we were friends, we were close. then we weren't. is it weird to still think about it? is it weird that it still hurts? we deserved some kind of answer. i don't think i'll ever be okay until i have one i don't care what it is; we deserved something, at the very least. what happened?
the dust settles on me - two bottles, broken drop me in the ocean with no anchor because my sins will weigh me down i never felt too comfortable in my own skin, and i have you to thank for that. i’ll shed it all off, anyway, in the morning light; i’ll be a snake, and when i slither out of what’s left of the old me i’ll be secret, and i’ll be safe, and i won’t be heard from again.