My dear,
I know you hate me,
but years ago,
you used to praise me;
when you had a childhood,
before you lost your innocence,
before anyone had the chance to
take your heart and break it.
You saw the beauty in me,
but then your views started changing.
Why?
I give you life.
I walk the world with you.
I love you:
so why do you want me dead?
Why do you make me perform autopsies on my past mistakes
and bury the people that get close to me?
Every day, you make me hold my words hostage,
suffocating within the walls of my throat.
They are all dead,
so I started placing tombstones to mark
everything that went unsaid because of you.
All I ever wanted was for someone to save me.
I needed you, but you liked watching me burn.
Soon enough, the flames became my friends.
It started out as occasional visits,
but now I freaking live with them.
I miss you-
the person I used to know,
but this girl, this shadow of a soul,
I do not know her.
I don't know you.
You're supposed to love me,
so why don't you?
When you're ready to talk,
when your tongue is prepared to
give me some kind of answer,
I'll be here.
I will always be here.
Just look in the mirror.
Sheetal Tadiparty
Flickr Creative Commons
