Disappear into the mist of a haunting song. Be lost in the melody and forgotten between the bars. I am not there, I am not anywhere. I want to race toward the dark and hide within the sounds of sorrowing goodbyes.
I do this to myself. I do this on my own. I am not there. If you saw me, you wouldn’t see right through me. If you saw me, I wouldn’t need to disappear.
I watch the memories tarnish and turn shades of bronze. I watch people come and go as they please and burn themselves brightly in the sun. But I am not there. I watch myself drop beneath the shallow graves into the ground. I watch as one by one of my scars open up slowly. I am bleeding turning black and blue, but you don’t see me. I’ll be gone before you know it. I’ll be gone before the words reach you.
I am crystal clear in the sunlight days, but now I bleed black and blue. If only I could outstretch my arms to the skies and reach straight to the stars. If only I could pretend that a little light is better than no light at all. Slowly I sink beneath the hollow ground beneath the earth and silently turn to dust.
If you cut my wings, I’ll only bleed. I will stay close to the ground in the ashes of the fire, that you burn before me. You will break my heart but I will not be broken. You cannot break me. I will not be weak for your affection nor attention. I will not be defeated. I’ll bleed in the aftermath of the fire but I will not burn. I refuse to burn for your amusement. I’ll bleed through your battles but will win the war. I have been down this road too many times before. The rivers will bleed in the bloods of my sorrow but my strength will see me through.
So bright, she can burn your eyes, Better look the other way
Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I will cry, I will break, but I refuse to burn. It’s the ashes of the fires that will see me through. You cannot hurt me for I will rise above this. Your words are your fists to plummet me to the ground, but you will not come up victorious. You use your words to break me but I will not be broken. I will break to bleed but you will not cut my wings. You cannot hurt my wounded soul with the words of your grief and sorrow. You will not hurt me no more. I may be black and blue but you will not defeat me. I will not be defeated.
I will watch the flames you throw at me burn, but I am untouchable. For the flames turn to ashes that I will rise above. Through the ashes I will see this through. I am not afraid of you. I dust the ashes from my skin and watch myself overcome these wounds. My cuts they bleed and scab but soon they heal. I am on the mend from this bloody mess that you put me through. You cannot clip my wings. You cannot hurt this wounded vessel that once burned for you. Black and blue and bleeding through. Fighting fire with fire will only burn you. You will not hurt me anymore. I bind you in your misery and misfortune, you will not touch me. I refuse to let you hurt me. It’s my wings that I use to fly far from you. From this mess, this hurt, this pain. I will not burn. I will bleed, I will scab, but I will not burn. Not for you. Not for anyone. If you cut my wings, I’ll only bleed but you cannot defeat me.
Words have a way of suffocating you when you’re trying to breathe. Long after they have been said. They’re the ghosts that come back to haunt you, long after the guilty parties have left. You cling on to them, allow them to marinate inside of you and never let them go. You find yourself believing these things because that’s what you’ve taught yourself to believe. Bruises heal, cuts scar, but words have this long lasting effect that echo through you on the darkest of days.
Everyone says to forget them. Erase them from your mind. That part of your life is over and time to focus on the now. Every once in a while when things happen to hurt more than normal you go back to those words. Those words that make your heart break. Those words that remind you of bleeding and hurting, all over again. You give these words all the power to infest your insides with hatred and you can’t help but allow it to. No matter what you tell yourself its always in the back of your mind, “You’re not good enough, and you never will be”. You are your worst critic and no matter what you tell yourself during the day, it’s the nights that haunt you more than anything. It’s the nights that you are honest with yourself and you can’t help but pick yourself apart. You’re only doing what others have done before you. Nit pick at everything you do and making themselves superior from how you’re feeling. It doesn’t make them ugly, because you know how ugly of a person you already are. Its the same fight you have over and over with yourself. This devil and god continuing to rage inside of you and you can’t help but succumb to the darkness. You fight this battle every night and you tell yourself one day it will be over, one day it will all disappear.
I wish it was easy to forget. That believing people was easy as snapping your fingers. It’s not. While I sit here I just want to pick at the broken scabs and watch myself bleed. It’s what everyone else wants. They want this failure, this shell of a person that radiates black and blue. They want a vessel to point fingers at. How easy it would be to watch the blood drain from my veins just to make you feel better. How easy it was to say the words and never caring of the actions that came after it. It takes more than an empty apology to make things better. I have a jar of empty apologizes and my arms sore from every cut you gave me. I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, and I can’t help but replay every negative aspect of life people have thrown against me. You make me a victim but I can’t help but always feel like the villain. I am the bad guy, I am the one that’s always in the wrong. But I’m still the one bleeding for your amusement.
We bleed, we give up, then we rise again. It’s not easy being who everyone wants me to be. It’s not easy pretending that everything is fine. I am not fine, I am not even close to being okay. Some days are harder and some days just disappear. I would have bled myself dry if that would make everyone happy. But I can’t. Instead I watch the cuts turn to scabs and the scab heal into scars. I can’t forget what has happened because the scar is there to remind me. To remind me of the bleeding, the hurt, and the pain of words that I can’t seem to rid from my mind. One day the ghost of the words will no longer haunt me. What a joyful feeling that would be. Until then I sit with my scars and continue to heal.