It’s hard to talk

around the lump in my throat

that took a permanent residence

no matter how hard I tried to cut it.

It’s near to impossible

to stop lying to myself and admit

that at some point in fragile time

I was unbearably and sickeningly weak.

And it stuck and I struck

any person that ventured close.

It wasn’t comfortable under the shade

but it’s the only safety I’ve ever known.

I would have occupied that place

cackling rough melodies out of tune

and turning into the prettiest shade of blue

if it wasn’t for you.

The darkness I grew to admire

was mixed with the shimmering lines.

The twilight, I found, was designed to inspire

the moulding of pain to delight.





2 thoughts on “Lines

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