Yesterday was alright
which leads me to believe I was either dreaming or dead.
But today was another day of despair.
The sun was out,
it kissed my skin and inflamed my bones.
I imagined he was there with me,
sitting with his guitar on his lap,
staring into the concrete and
strumming out a song he always kept silent.
(this is how I know I miss him)
Loving a thunderhawk has made my head pound
I’m so tired I can hardly make a sound.
I thought I was done with being sorry,
but it seems that I was wrong.
Your silence drenches me in sadness,
and your words are hollow.
(You never could show emotion when given a script)
but the stage lights are so bright, and I can’t remember my lines.
I think I was supposed to swallow a handful of pills
or maybe pull a trigger
or slit my throat
but I’ve slit a thousand throats with my words,
and broken a million hearts with my fists.
But in the end I’m the one bruised and breathless and beaten.
And I don’t know how to handle the fact that no one loves me.
And I hate those male-dependent girls you always read about in books,
the ones who can’t cope without him.
But it’s a tough role, being the hero.
Especially when you’re saving yourself.
And you’re not even sure you want to be saved anymore.
Source - hiswordssplashedmewithstars
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