I ruptured my own body,
I twisted my own head;
I know not what I must do,
To erase these burdens of mortality.
None can see what I really feel;
None can see who I really am.

Standing upon quiet land,
Stepping on fields of flowers,
Wilting at every second.
He seemed like a familiar friend,
A person I've met before,
Yet scouring, I've no memory of him.

Yet I digress, I think there is:
I've met him at 8,
He wasn't seen by others.
He was the only one to embrace me,
When I felt like an abyss,
Whispering haunt into my ears.

He'd want to strike me down,
He'd want to see me drown,
He'd be the one to do it himself;
Yet I let him be,
A part of me,
For as long as I can remember.

I painted his eyes blue,
He painted my world pitch-black,
Even the sunshine grew dark;
I knew he'd do it,
I knew he'd destroy me,
I knew, but I let him.

I can't shout what I want to say,
I feel like a hollow shell;
I have nothing in me.
They say I'd become different,
They say they know me,
How, when I am not me?

I may have bled not blood,
I may have not wounded myself,
But the gut-wrenching pain is real;
I can't help myself,
I can't find myself,
I am not myself.