Here. Here I go. One day at a time.
And I know if I keep my head above the water
then I'll have a chance at swimming back to shore.
Torn. Torn in two. Twist the knife. Strip the screw.
I'll be fine. I'll heal in time. Convincing myself that,
"It's not a part of me. It's not important anymore.
It's just a memory and I have long since shut that door."
Mine. Mine for keeps. I still feel sick and it's been seven weeks.
I miss your face. I miss the glow.
What's the point in leaving to begin with
when you never let it go. "It's far away from me.
A distance larger than the pain",
I try to tell myself, but the more I try to
scrub away the stain the more I want to be there.
Yet something whispers,"Look where you've gotten on your own
thus far, alone and in the dark".
Nobody knows your name. Everything looks the same.