The scariest part of being alone is liking your empty home.

It’s a double edged blade made of security and pain,

it’s depressions bed at three am,

it’s saying β€œi’m okay with this.”

I really can’t complain, it’s just,

all I see are walls now.

nothing but the fall, now.

I should just answer your call now,

but no one ever knocks, hell, wouldn’t answer anyhow.

Scared that if i open up,

I won’t be able to shut up,

will it happen over again?

Just living inside my head.

Curse the hand that made me, while my own hand it bled me.

Forgiveness, forget this, it’s simple to erect bricks.

And straight edge to straight lines,

we’re all okay until we flat-line.

And I'm living in my head,

our transience is sick.

holding hands- sharing breath,

walking home is what life is.

Consenting to the end, we might as well be dead,

See me in the sound, in the white noise I fade out.

A blur on the sensors-

A noise in the universe-

A mistake.

Blink and you miss me,

my feet softly tripping,

and the traffic is on-coming,

the thought is comforting.

Your existence becomes a wreck when you realise the lies you were fed,

I’ve never been the best, yet my walls are covered with blue ribbons


This poem is about: 
My family


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