If you listen closely, the silence is calling you, urging you to return to the quiet you once knew... But you've grown to love the noise; sanity isn't trustworthy anyway.

I don’t know how to write

I only know how to feel, how to bleed

The red seeps into the page

Then somehow sentences are formed

Someone finds it, in a dusty wooden chest

In the back of the room

It’s been hidden, untouched, for years, and I didn’t know there was anyone else left

Somehow my heart isn’t the only one beating

I fought for you

With glass shards in the palms of my hands

I destroyed the mirrors

Telling us who we were and who we were not

Only we decide that

I fought for you

With brick dust in my blood covered knuckles

I destroyed the walls

Telling us where we start and where we end

Only we decide that

I always fought for you

Why couldn’t you do the same for me?