I keep tearing open my own old wounds.
Maybe I like the pain.
Maybe we both do.
I can't stop trying to convince myself that I'll never be good enough.
I won't give myself a break.
He won't save me from my own hell.
He has his own to deal with.
To put me through.
I feel less and less important by the day.
I'm the pretty petal on the breeze.
Worth a moment's pause to wonder over,
but not worth more than the passing thought.
No matter how I try,
I've never felt important.
There's always something better.
The pain reminds me not to let my head float away in the clouds.
Happiness is for someone else.
Someone more deserving than me.
So don't get used to the feeling.
It was never supposed to be mine anyway.
That's not my place in life.
I'm the stepping stone from despair to daylight,
but never to be taken on the journey.
I'm worth only leaving behind in search of better things.
Better love, better people.
I'm the shadow that reminds you of the light awaiting.
Go in search of the brightness,
the sunshine,
the air worth breathing.
I am only quiet reflection.
I live in the in between place.
I think this may be where all of us, who should not have lived,
go to dwell.
No real purpose.
I was never supposed to be here anyway.
And so I fade.
With time, they all forget.
I was not meant to be remembered, anyway.
Certainly not to be kept.