THE GHOST OF HER SCARS

you come to my house, 

writes a poem on the wall in lipstick, 

pulls out all our sad records,

becomes the memory

I can't face,

and becomes the unforgettable 

darkness.

somebody keeps trying 

to find the light switch,

trying to find the off button,

and I'll just keep saying sorry,

even if i try, 

I can't tell you

how I fluctuate between extremes

over and over again

and even if i try,

I can't tell you

when one day you just wake up 

and feel the void around you

but that rock bottom isn't deep enough.

so I swallow all those words,

because trying to survive

the endless storms 

while drowning at the same time 

and watching you scream

and as I watch you try 

to console me

all I heard you say was, "we all have it. you need to stop."

as if its all in my head,

so I keep saying sorry

keep telling the same lie,

but you don't deserve to hear any of it

so fuck you and the rest of the world,

I don't owe you, any of you, anything.

a man used his lips

to kissed my cheek,

he wrap his twisted, sickening itch

around me.

he crafted a glittering scars.

and with a touch of fingers,

a woman grow thorns around me,

crafting another wall of scars.

they did the crime and did the time,

but time can't bring the soul back.

not even a hint of sorry.

broken promises is all I get,

and you think you deserve a way in to my mind?

you think you have the privilege to tell me 

what and how to feel and think?

let me bury you

and the rest of the world

under the fierce scream of those people

with broken souls

that searches for a broken home they called love.

let me smother you

and the rest of the world

with agony,

until it scars your soul 

and make you love the taste of heartbreak,

a taste that leads to insurmountable ache.

because I owe you nothing,

and that's all I'm going to give.

– C.L.