It’s lying on the floor because your bed feels empty.
It’s sitting in the rain, letting it touch you,
Because nobody else wants to.
It’s your body begging you to eat,
But you can’t even do that.
It’s writing love poems to your demons.
It’s hugging your pillow wishing it had a pulse.
But it never will.
It’s the dark place I live in,
The only place I feel accepted in.