I never really let myself look back at it,
you know, since I transformed into this person,
since my heart relearned its beat,
and my eyes regained their sight,
and my mouth relearned a speech that could stand up for
the brain that's had to muster every ounce of confusion,
every spec of pain,
every seed of anger,
and release it until the look in my tearless and fearless eyes
gained light again.
I never wanted to lose you.
I just had to if I wanted to come back from the dead,
from the grave I made in my hollow bed,
formed with baby green sheets and a pillow for my headstone.
That was your choice.
I just walked away from a world that would never care.

Sometimes... I just really hate when you're the inspiration behind
the fingertips clicking on the keyboard,
when you're the reason why I let myself bleed into a poem,
when you're the motive in a desperate attempt for me to have something for myself.
And then I remember... that's how I escape the way I'd wrap
around your conniving little finger until it turned to blade.
I always find it interesting to see how fleeting my existence can be.
It's like a game, isn't it?
The drunken texts, the awkwardly un-awkward hugs, the hellos and goodbyes
that turn into absolutely nothing.
It's funny how I'm the one who can be normal.
And honest.

The hardest thing I've ever had to do is accept that you aren't you,
that almost everything you do is a charade,
you parade about wanting pity and remorse,
you love the sadness as much as you hate it,
you hate the deception as much as you crave it,
and I simply cannot do that.

Maybe I haven't fully accepted it yet.

I wonder when I'll be invisible again.