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.