the most self-destructive thing i have ever done
wasn't the red slashes on my arms
or my bruised knuckles and broken walls,
it was the moment i made someone my happiness
and my beacon of light.

It's being stuck in a dark room
Separated from the light of happiness, by a cruel locked door
That has a small viewing glass for you to see
What lies on the other side,
Within your reach

It's having what seems like an entire ring of keys
To open the door, yet they're all the same key

It's refusing to stand up,
To take advantage of the little bit of light
That shines through the viewing glass for you

The little bit of light that'll show you
You keep recycling the same key
Over and over again

Because you use the dark to see

When she said she wouldn't leave me,
Her words reflected love and affection.
But when,
she finally did,
I realized,
That I was nothing more to her,
Than her favorite pass-time.

She left me broken,
She left me disheartened,
I couldn't explain the situation,
I couldn't control my feelings.
Nights were spent crying,
And days were spent dreaming.

My heart turned stone,
But it was once made of gold.
Is it alchemy,
Or just a sense of perfidy?

The days are already bygone,
But my soul still feels scattered all along.
Small pieces of it calling out in disorder,
Waiting long enough to be put in order.

I will try my best,
To move on,
To forget.
I can force my mind to that,
But who knows about this stubborn heart.

If there wasn't pain
There would be no poets
For we write about things
That hurt us, damage us, break us

Right?