I am the ghost
of a girl you once claimed to love;
my dead hands
reaching,
asking,
begging
for a piece of your soul
to wallow in forever.
There will come a time when you are sick
of trying to understand my mind
and my wrists.
I was never myself when I did this.
If I were part of the ocean
I would be the shallows;
the cold tide that people walk all over
reaching,
asking,
begging
to pull people in
but never getting close enough.
I was never myself when I did that.
I plead,
help me live once again
as something new born and blind;
blind to the atrocities of humanity,
but all seeing to life and love.
Love,
the only thing that could ever constitute
as sacred;
a relentless, chemical energy
that turns you in to a fool in all the right ways.
A substance more intelligent
than any apparent genius.
Oh, how the love
reaches,
asks,
begs
to confine me,
and oh, sweet love;
how I let you fill my lungs.
I was never myself when I was with you.
I’ve held hands with pain,
kissed every frozen fingertip
and I found my worship in ethanol and ash
before I found it in between
your lips and mine.
You changed me in all the worst ways,
causing me to start a war with my skin,
causing me to see my own reflection
as something unrecognisable,
something I never wanted to be.
I was never myself.
I made the mistake of building a home
out of a human being
and he was so riddled with wanderlust;
a nomadic masterpiece who couldn’t stay,
but should’ve stayed.
I’ve never felt so homesick.
I’m tired of tearing away my skin
and revealing the heart inside me
to people that are incapable of loving anything
other than themselves
and their sadness.
I crave for someone
to look at me as though
they can see my soul
more than they can see my skin.
I crave for someone
to see
what I wish to see.
More than anything,
I crave to see me:
*strong,
magnificent,
and beautiful.