The most beautiful people
that I've ever known
Are the ones who have hurt
or experienced pain
So please stop thinking
that you're damaged goods
...because you are not.
You are an artist of the soul
and yours is the most perfect,
masterpiece
that I've ever known

Within these lonely walls of mine,
sometimes I wish that I could die;
I curl up in my Mickey Mouse sheets,
and quickly pretend, that I'm asleep.
~
Just like the nights I've faced before,
I hear them open up my door;
They quietly lay down in my bed,
and I truly wish that I were dead.
~
I push their hands down, everytime,
but to no avail, they begin to rise;
The shame and guilt seems all too real,
for that is almost all I feel.
~
They leave me torn,
they leave me shamed;
They leave me damaged,
yet it's me I blame.

Warm on the outside.
Cold on the in.
Walls that develop enclosure.
Segregation of a compassionate soul
Torn to a mind set of old.
Aches beat still of a damaged heart,
Effort isnt in control.
Motivation at wonderland speed
supressed by depression and tolls.

Was I weak for letting him do what he did?
Did it make me pathetic?
His face stains the inside of my eye lids like bitter red wine would stain a white dress,
His voice is vividly there every time some one calls my name.
Sometimes I can still feel his fingers exploring my body as if he hasn't tainted every inch of it down to my split ends,
sometimes I can feel his lips grazing my ear to whisper vile things.
He has control over me despite the fact he can't physically hurt me anymore,
despite that fact his memory still haunts me...like an echo of him.
His echo lies in bed with me every night,
his echo hides in my shadow whispering all my insecurities as if a second voice,
his echo traces every kiss,
his echo makes love to my dreams creating little demons.
His echo follows me as if it's the ghost of someone I killed...
Maybe it is the ghost...
maybe it's my ghost.
The ghost of who I once was before him.