and oh, i'm sorry.
its all coming back again,
the sorrow
the hurting
the caving in

as if i was a monument
that still had a long way to fall,

as if i had not already
lost it all
to the fissures
that broke beneath my skin.

i am no longer the moss-lined ruin
where the sun still meets
the stone,

i am sharp, i am broken,
with dark bruised bones
that would definitely crumble
beneath the touch of your hand.

but i will still leave
a wound that bleeds you
right where you stand.

that is the price
of loving me.

to be haunted by the memory
of everything i used to be
and everything that i became
and will be.

not even the ghosts
dare to whisper my name
because of the way
it disturbs the hall.

there is a reason
the demons
are best left sleeping
beneath the walls.

but oh, i'm sorry,
it all comes back again,
the sorrow,
the hurting,
the caving in

as if i still had something
left to lose.

the ghosts,
my ghosts
bow their heads to you
as you slowly take your leave.

take one last look at me
before you go.

do not flinch as the shadows
fold me away from your view.

there is nothing left here
for me to turn back to,
and for you to return to.