The hours crawl by and I sit huddled, waiting.
I've never been over seas, but I can imagine,
This must be what it's like, every second
Chiseling the hole in your chest wider,
Wondering if morning and light are real
Not just the figment of the deprived imagination
The cold sets in around two am and I get up
I trip over piles of crap and fumble for the switch
The fan clicks off, my body immediately burns
The cold isn't external, its within me. My soul.
At first glance its loneliness. But it is far worse
It is a desperation to be loved exactly as I am
I laugh out loud as I think this. Who am i?
Who am I to be loved. I am scarred and flawed
I have done heinous things. Lied, cheated, all of it
I have never been overseas, but I know.
I live in a warzone. No where is remotely safe
My room, the car, the supermarket, school.
I'm battling myself, and I'm not sure what for.