as humans we destroy everything we touch,
Including each other.
I am looking for someone not to live with,
But someone who I cannot live without.
I spent so much time trying to dig up the pieces of myself
That were buried in you
Because I wanted to find something that escaped our
Detonation,
Even if it is just another skeleton to keep in my closet.
I have built a dynasty of deception,
But the throne I sit on is not one of lies,
Rather weakness.
Because I am not able to find the strength in myself to admit
That when you left the world that I lived in Left with you,
And I could not find the courage to say anything because
I know that my admission would be nothing more than just
Another ego boost for you.
And even though all I ever gave you
Were the golden parts of myself,
I only ever got your rusty scraps in return.
Everything about us was unequal and unfair,
But we accept the love we think we deserve, right?
I am a being stained
By the blood she has shed over her mistakes
And no matter how hard I try to stitch up old wounds
You always manage to open them back up with
Just a touch or the right combination of words.
I remember the time when I was more than just a lovesick girl,
When I had an inferno in my eyes
And a blizzard that I liked to call a heart.
Now I am the girl who likes to write at 5:37 in the morning
When her glacier heart is nothing more than an icicle
And the inferno in her eyes has finally fizzled
To nothing more than coals who dream of becoming the diamonds
That you love so much.
Now I am the girl who cannot help but to think
Of all the parts of herself she gave away
Trying to find someone who would give her an equal exchange,
And now that she has found that person she
Has also found herself leading him into her world of deceit
And she does not have the heart to tell him that she is not what
He deserves.
I have watched myself destruct more times
Than the number of pieces my heart is in,
I am try to fill the missing parts of myself
With other people,
and in that I am no better than the monsters who caused this in the first place.
All I have left are words and their arrangements,
I have spent endless nights trying to type my life into pages
And it seems that I still can't get how I feel to spill itself
Onto the paper.
I have lost myself within similes and metaphors,
searched for my soul in the depths of oxymorons and alliteration
only to find myself standing amidst mental decimation,
watched the me that I loved disintegrate
and I could not do anything except try and pick up the particles
of my person.
But I cannot retrieve the nonexistent,
and so I will pine after the lost pieces of myself;
an incomplete glass menagerie
who is tired of letting light pass through her fragile bones
and wishes that someday
someone will let her make a home in their heart
just to give her a place to stay...
the pieces of myself I have left miss the girl that I gave away.
