Who, me?

That different girl I used to be,

The dead corpse inside of me,

That past lost in the blood,

Those moments brimmed in my eyes,

I still go back there,

I still tread in the dark,

I still see faint light,

But never see it enough.


I run back to now,

Whenever I feel scared,

The dark still chills my bone,

It freezes the blood,

It wins over the fire,

I run back when I feel the pain again,

The pain of being fearful,

The pain of being alone.


I still sit for long hours,

Figuring out metaphors,

I still have the goose bumps,

From the times life proved to be irony,

I still weep the lost of my past,

No regret, but only memory,

The one memory, the sole truth,

That will live with me to eternity.


I may have gone over the line,

Speaking of my hyperbole,

I may have made a thousand mistakes,

And also learned my lessons well,

But some things you never lose,

You are always the person you were,

Since the ghosts lives inside you,

Some things you never learn, even if you pretend you finally do!



I could still say, I loved you.

I could still say I love none.

Because I was not made to be loved

Only made to give all to some,

I could never do that again,

If I ever even did it before,

I could only loath and be loathed,

For all that I am and I was, and I was not…


Yet, I’d never be the same. I never was the person you knew. I never did the things I did, or say the things I said.



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