a lonely heart
in a crowded room
and it feels like I'm falling
falling, falling, falling
scars and scabs outline my knuckles;
battle wounds from all the holes
I've been punching,
in the walls of my mind.

I still pretend you're here with me.
but that's like
pretending god isn't laughing at us
or that "what doesn't **** us
makes us stronger" and
it's evident I'm weak.

the flowers are all dead now
without you.
your voice was the sun,
and your smile the rain,
that kept the garden in my heart alive.
now thistle and weeds
are all that remain.

I'm still falling
falling, falling, falling
with no end in sight,
but lately I can't decide
if hitting rock bottom would **** me,
or if I'm already dead.