"In commemoration of this great inspiration... 50% off of entire shop! Hurry before store closes!"

sigh

*because a consumer market and materialism are surely the best way to
remember and celebrate a man who strove for the best in humanity.

my wrists still hurt more from your rough hands
pinning me to the floor,
than anything I've ever done to them before.

my head still aches more from screaming,
rather than by an old concussion lingering.

my eyes still cry and leak over,
but I'm not sure why anymore.

But as long as it's don't ask, don't tell,
I'll be fine.

My home is in your arms.
My home is where ever my family is.
The places that I go is only one step further to were I belong.
My home is the place that I am safe.

My family is my "home" per se.
Everything that is theirs is mine.
Everything that is mine is theirs.
My home is wherever they are.

My place is with you.
My heart is with you.
You are my "second home".
The love is true.

The faith is real.
You are the one that is keeping me safe.
You are saving me as I am saving you.
Don't forget that you are my "second home"

I'm  not the kind of girl you say babe to.
Or the one you call beautiful
Or seek to entice.
I'm the one your curled up with in an airport,
Four days before.

I'm not the kind of girl you ask out and post on facebook.
Or worry about from miles away.
I am the hidden kind of girl,
Held in darkness,
But not with hands.

I'm not the kind of girl you move across a country for.
Or you dress up nice and take to parties.
I'm the fierce kind of girl
Who has your unwanted secret
Hidden beneath layers of flesh.

I'm not the kind of girl who doesn't notice your lies.
Or your eyes
Or your ways of showing me I'm not the kind of girl.
But I am the awful kind of girl
Who ignores it.

I am the kind of girl who will share your bed,
And do your laundry.
Agree we are together but always wonder
Why together feels so much lonelier
Then I remember.

People may tell you to not cry...
I won't because I know the difference.
They think they know when in fact they lie...
I say bury yourself in the deepest of detriments.

They may say that a new day will come...
They only spout what they can't comprehend.
They forget that you are ailing from a broken heart and that you're not dumb.
There's only you in your space, alone you stand...

Textbook responses are all they can offer...
They know not that it'll only make things worse...
There can be no replies so nice and proper.
To rid you of your life, your plight, your curse.

They may even share personal events that they think familiar.
Thinking what worked for them may work for you.
But no two situations are the same, albeit looking quite similar.
At the end of the day, you only owe it to yourself to pull yourself through.

I say feed your pain, grieve hard if you must
Wallow... Dwell... Drown yourself everyday.
Let your blood sear your insides, beneath your crumbling crust.
Let the world around you descend into destruction and decay.

What made me the expert...
To say these horrid, putrid things.
Because I am you and we both lay in the dirt.
Driven mad by the persistent echoes of our own misgivings.

I'm no expert... I am just a broken man.
Telling you to let yourself be caught in your own sad and angry song.
Be weak... Be as weak as you possibly can...
So you could rise from the ashes and emerge hale and strong.