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?

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.