my brain started to rot,
with the thoughts that i dare not word,
the etchings and carvings of my trauma that i wish to never return,
and as life grips my throat,
the shaky breaths fail to escape my chapped lips,
drowning under the oceans anchored and below my sunken eyes,
with this weariness, i try to strive to see a world that loves me just the same,

and as my heart beats, falters, and persists,
despite all odds, determination fills my veins,
with aged scars, blackened burns, scarred scratches,
representing times i wish to forget,
the reminders are scorched into memories i like to pretend that never existed,
alongside the fact that my family did not foster a holy bond,

and, if any angels are near me,
them, as my witnesses,
can confide in that they only noticed spilled blood my own father admitted he never cared to see, the permanent cuts bound to my thick skin,
as i gazed into each slice,
wholeheartedly believing my blade would cut me from the ropes they ensnared upon my everloving entity

with the fury of the sun,
at the top of his tar-stained lungs,
he accused me of his premature death,
due to the stress of my illnesses he neglected to heal,
both still living with no regrets of the abuses he inflicted into my kin,
and the apple did not fall far from the tree,
similar sinisterness struck into my being
by the sinners i am expected to call my gracious home,

i am no angel,
and if god is cruel,
then you are the devil,

i am no savior,
no fallen child,
no messiah,
no hero from the stories that are my sanctuary,
just a wanderer, a journeyer, an existence that will cease,

and no matter who i am seen as,
and no matter how long i live,
and no matter my death date,
i will tell myself what you never will:
i am made of love,
i am made of light,
i am made of hope,
and i am a star that will never stop shining, even after my supernova
and as i become stardust, or rather dark matter,
the blurring of a century, if i am lucky enough, will fade into space,
and hopefully, if i am fortunate, another sweet, sincere, sorrowful soul will turn their eyes to the midnight sky,
and smile in the comfort that there is genuine happiness and beauty in this godforsaken world, even if it is lightyears away,
a keepsake of my soul, yearning my deepest desire, to be what i only hoped for anyone who so wishes,
though, especially endeared by those i love,
for i cannot gift it to myself, knowing the circumstances of life does not discriminate,
i want to love you forever,
but i cannot; our gravesites are as eventual as our smiles,
and, even, if for a moment,
couldn't it last forever...?