Running out of the gasoline
That gives me life,
Which you siphoned away.
And washed up at seventeen
As I’m cradled and cornered
By the rocky uniform shores that are both my home
And my horror.
As they stand at attention,
Devoid of emotion,
Stripped of their color and beauty.
Trees suffocating in the power of the depths before me.
Look at me and listen,
As I tell you what you’ve done to me
I don’t know who you are
Or if you mean what you say
But your ghosts stare at me from the blank walls of my memories
I don’t know who I am
Or if I will ever mean what I say
Words of blind rage and isolation and sadness and, yet, hope,
Blanketed by rainbow joy,
Plastered with paper fireflies that dance around me.
So don’t ask me who I am
When all I’ve been is you
I am a warped mirror, always crooked
Because you taught me to hate what I was becoming
And now I hate it, too.
Our lies, sickly sweet like watermelon,
Drowned my brain and saturated my heart,
And I let it happen
As we watered down my soul.
I will set myself on fire
With all that you stand for
If it means I can crawl out of the gray space you raised me in
Where we vagabonds stay
Forced to listen to the echoing laughter, laced with a bite like frost,
And broken recordings of memories
Of feet anchored in sand,
Flashlight dances,
Time as tangible as a sword in hand,
Lost to most.
And if you beg me to stay, I will run faster.
Even if you’ve carved off my wings.
Because the more you try to crush me,
Hold me close,
Iron fist led by a heart of stone
Yew and ivy whispering around it in a thick fortress, dark and green,
The more I will crumble away into dust before our eyes
Dispersed, lost, alone
Irreparable.
I carried you to the summit on the throne meant for me,
and I fell to your feet.
But my body aches,
My soul gone,
My heart cold,
My mind distant.
And now it will be your fault for once in your life
Never mine