I always say, I feel nothing.
I always say, I'm not empathic.
I try to hide the reality,
That my heart is broken, severely.
I can see the morning sun,
Yet I cannot feel the light.
I sit in an empty room,
Yet I feel welcomed;
Welcomed by those not welcomed by others,
Welcomed by those who haunt my evening slumbers,
Welcomed, by those monstrosities in my head.
They speak in my tongue,
They move in my paces,
They think of my thoughts,
They are in my shoes.
They are my comfort,
They are my fears,
That one day, they'd make waterfall out of my tears.
I am damaged by words,
I am bruised by anticipation,
That the worst is always to happen,
As it was—no, in, my life.
They hold the strings to my body,
They fit my broken pieces to shape.
They stretch my mouth to form a smile,
They deafen my ears to the sound of joy,
They make me caged, wherever I go,
They follow my every stroll.
My demons are not my enemies,
Nor are they my saviors.
It is those around me, that feed them anger,
That my heart is painted black and horrid,
That my eyes are clouded in fogs of sadness.
Censures around me speak all of: "Cheer up!"
They could not understand!
How would they know what I feel?!
Know of the pain I suffer everyday;
Know of the wounds that bleed in my thoughts;
Know of the knives that stab me in my wake,
Knives that cut deeper than my body, my soul;
Know of the love I would never feel;
Know of the scars that will never heal;
Know of the eyes too exhausted to cry;
Know of the will to weak to even try;
Try to fight for justice he sought?
I know, I'm an attention *****.
I know, I say, what you say is *******.
I can't think of anything else that I can do,
Nor think of the hands I can reach out to.
I write in rambles, I speak in some, too.
None can really see, my faith is few.
I can never go back to what once I was,
**You trashed it long ago.