I like to think that when you left me, you went straight to church. you listened to the sermon, but you couldn't stand up when the congregation sang. I like to think that someday you'll stop trying to wash my scriptures off your hands with holy water. I like to think that I'm that old mattress you had when you were ten; you always said it held the same familiarity as falling in love with a stranger. the mattress' holes from falling asleep with lit cigarettes match up perfectly with my alibi.
I'm not to be trusted. I'm an angry human. I grew up with broken glass in my lungs and cracked ribs. something inside me snaps even further when the sun shapes your body into a shadow on my bedroom wall.
I want to redefine the word 'fire' with your name, and light candles with you. I want to make my walls sweat. I want you to burn up my ****** clothes. I want you to set my books ablaze. I want you to realize the hardest part is never letting go, but forgetting you ever had a handle.
you can't be the flame and the wick. you need to leave me to burn down, like the altar candles in the front of the sanctuary, for everyone to see.
sometimes I think god hates me; I'm just a pawn in his and satan's chess game. small and insignificant in value - I almost want satan to win.
after all, if you are fire, hell will feel like home.
but then I remember that I'm tired of controlled burns and scrubbing your soot off of my hands.
so I like to think that when you left me, you went straight to church. you listened to the sermon, but you couldn't stand up when the congregation sang.
and I like to think that Saint Jude called me out of your blaze, and that I left you there with all of your confessions and your communions in your own personal hell.
I ache, I scream, But never shall you see nor hear. Voices in my head crack and break, But you will never hear me stutter when i speak. Its a cures to be able to remember the past, To remember the thoughts. The details of those night alone. The wall felling like they are closing in ready to crush what little strength i held close. A life time i thought the voices would take, claming it as there own, never to let me or anyone else forget. Almost I handed it to them on a platter made of fear and tears. Almost did walk to the place where i would never be found again. Almost... That life time is still going strong. Those voice tho still present, not as loud. And the aches and the screams are still felt and heard, But... Washed away by the light, the little strength that was left. Slowly... finding peace in life.