There are these little trickles left inside
Moments where I remember what I was and what I thought I wanted to be
My thoughts are blurred, shifting in and out of focus
Bleeding aching as I try to forget what I was
but part of me wants it, part of me still wants to hurt
and bleed and ache.
The lines are not fresh anymore, they are white reminders
teasing me, taunting me
telling me that I am not done yet.
I am not done yet.
I was hollowed out once, he has filled me
save for those small holes that I keep for myself
that tell me that I have not changed entirely
and I must not go back.
But I want to, so much of me wants to,
I miss these red hearts and black eyes
and white lines and silver shines
and silver shines
and I miss you.
You were the part of me I thought made me me,
but I am not, can not, was not,
because I am no longer mine
and have not been for the longest time.
I am a cracked shell you have held together
so that you can hear the sound of the sea again
without me crashing into roc