I was born with a broken heart, and no one can care for me or love me enough. If they don’t care for me or love me for a day, I’ll go back to being paranoid and hurt, and I’ll be much worse than I was before they came into my life.
No light is bright enough for my darkness; nobody’s trust can make me totally fearless. No love is compatible enough with my heart; no brush is good enough for my art. No air is fresh enough for my lungs; no drums are good enough for my songs.
I must learn. I must learn how to love myself. No one’ll ever love me more than myself. No one’ll ever love my self more than me.
There you are, sitting in the garden, desperately waiting for the seed’s growth. You water it for as long as you can, then you say to yourself- “if I use my tears, it might be kind enough to grow faster.” You’re tired of waiting; you’re tired of dreaming.
So, you slap yourself really hard, punch yourself with all your strength, and attach pins to your right arm, one pin for every second that you have had to wait, but the seed won’t sprout, still.
Then, you realize! You realize that what you’ve been waiting for, what you’ve planted, is no seed at all- it’s your heart, it’s your self, and you can’t grow love on an infertile ground, even if you ask and wait and beg for it, with all of your heart.
You, my Knight of Swords, my prince; me, your princess, asleep. You sucked death out of me- my lips, your lips; first, it was the mouth, then it became the nipps; you made me a new person, from my hair to my feet.
My death settled on your tongue, it poisoned your words, and with each passing day, you reminded me that I once was dead, and that I owe you my life. Our fairytale was over, my prince was killing me, I was dying again.
Death didn’t spare my previous knight on his way to meet me, so he became death. He died; he was dead inside. He broke hearts and ripped souls, but I welcomed him with open arms. Totally rejecting the idea that he was completely dead, I tried to fix his wounds. He snatched my heart and broke it in six, and I let myself die the 6th time.
Look, I am very quickly becoming death; so, find another queen. My flowers are not yours to wet; my heart’s not yours to win.
Note: Your knight was/is not Death, queen; your real knight will come!
Why do I miss you so much if you are right beside me? You are gone from you, you are gone from me. Your eyes don’t recognize me anymore, I can’t see myself in them. You’re alive, and I’m alive, but Us is dead; Us is not on this bed.