i held my head up,
propped up against false ideas,
and naive hopes.
I dreamt I came back to you.
everything repeated.
I found solace in the cold feeling of blood dripping from my fingertips,
stumbled upon comfort in a dark room with a light year between us.
and your love was only something I earned with compliancy,
and I continued to reach for fire knowing the burns would outweigh the warmth.
but if I am to pretend that I can cross a light year,
I will stride through dark bedroom after dark bedroom if it means I can find comfort
living in between your blows.
and if I am to pretend that what I consider living is of quality,
I will live in the light that comes before and after
your strikes bring darkness.
and if I live in my daydreams,
without end,
I will always split my skin to remind myself I bleed.
I will always reach for the flame to know that I burn.
I will always cross light years of nothingness to feel the comfort that hides in the dark.
I will live in the light years of nothingness,
I will come from nothingness,
I will be reborn from the ashes of what has burnt me.