The ringing inside of your head has been going on for months now. There used to be music but the chords haven’t made any sense to you since the silence began. The emptiness drones on, its own form of white noise. You stand still, like you're waiting for a bus that isn’t going to come. Even if it does you know you’re going to be the only passenger. And yet you’re there because a part of you thinks it’ll bring you back to a spot where you're still 8 years old. A time when the only thing you loved more than your dog was the way he liked to chase his tail in circles. Do you ever tell people what it felt like when he ran away and never came back? Or maybe you’re so used to being abandoned by now and that’s why you leave people cold for a living. It’s much safer than the alternative of waking up and realizing the left side of your bed is empty before you are able to say goodbye. That’s why you sleep alone. That’s why the last person to visit your apartment at night was the neighbor who needed to borrow some milk. Too bad he didn’t know you were harboring ghosts in your closest. The priest would come and bless them away if only you could learn to make new friends. Do you keep them because they tell you what you want to hear? Or is it because they remind you of all the crimes you committed, the hearts you ripped out in cold blood and forgot to give back? A long list of apologies that never made it past the answering machine. You must’ve been born without a reflex that allowed you to wait past the tone. And it doesn’t help at this point that you don’t even know your own name. It stopped sounding the same when your dad wasn’t there to say it anymore. The first casualty you endured, the first crack that would eventually break all of your bones. I guess it’s hard to build a home when the only one you'd ever known chewed and spit you out like a flavorless piece of gum. And now you’re all alone in a bed that’s made for two. Nobody seemed to warn you that setting yourself on fire won’t keep you warm at night.

You never liked the way I tapped my fingers against my mouth when I got nervous. I wasn't sure if it was because of the way they made you question how I felt or how it reminded you of your mother's constant tapping each night your father didn't come home on time. On those dark nights, when he creeped in at 3 a.m., did you wonder about the lady wearing red lipstick? Or did you wait for him at the crack of your bedroom door because you couldn't sleep without him saying goodnight? When I was four my mother took me to the beach and taught me how to dance in the waves, until one day a little boy drowned at sea and we stopped going to the beach altogether. I guess sometimes it's better to be safe instead of sorry but if that's the case then why did she always leave the back door open when she knew dad was never coming home? I don't think she realized a man might come and pull the trigger on us, or maybe that was what she wanted all along. Sometimes she would even hum this song, sitting at the kitchen table with her tea. The tune was never familiar to me but something about it made you wish you were anywhere but here. Like you should be running away to Neverland because your home was starting to crack at the foundation. A campfire that slowly died out before you were finished singing Kumbaya, but no one was there to hold your hand and sway along to the beat. Didn't you always feel like you were born with two left feet? Like something about you didn't quite fit with the rest. You lived life as a puzzle piece that got put back in the box because there wasn't a spot for you left. But what you didn't notice was how you were just mixed up in the wrong picture. Someone long ago forgot to tell you how you were made of sunflowers instead of roses, and now you don't know where you belong. Lyrics to a song that has no music. A ship with no sail. A tree that can't grow leaves. Just a broken part of the whole. And no matter how many times somebody says it's going to get better you still won't make a wish when you blow out your birthday candles. People don't understand that the light at the end of your tunnel is just a freight train carrying every person you have every tried to love.