I go to bed sick,
And I wake up seething.
I look down at my chest,
I'm pretty sure it's bleeding.
Freezing, right to the core-
'Till I'm numb, feel nothing more.
I'm not even sure I'm breathing.
Fine lines etched;
Secret. Permanent moments of believing,
In tiny little lines.
At least I know I'm leaving.
Suicide?
Silly.

Like me.

I am claustrophobic,
Locked up in this dark room of mine.
So dark I can't see.
It's a shame, really,
To not see the masterpiece before me.
I built it myself, you know.
Brick by brick,
Out of dead heart-beats and broken things.
Oh, how I've always loved the broken things.
Tie them together, maybe things will get better-
But that's just wishful thinking.
There was a door, long ago
Away from stifling vacancy,
But you stole me away, and shattered the key.
And now,
It's just me.

It's almost as though the sun knows our secrets,
And the moon our tears.
It only goes to show that
Secrets only surface when followed by tears.
And what if we're scared?
We build houses, silently tucked away,
Remain inside all night and day.
I'll admit I'm scared -
And I'll build my own **** house
Out of half-assed smiles,
And half-assed eyes.
I wonder if you wouldn't step inside?
No really,
I'm begging you -

Don't let me hide.