The need to fill my core with passion overwhelms my mind, but the sheer panic of opening up, keeps my mouth shut like a book which has been left to live its life untouched.
The blood that runs from your heart is smeared over the faces of those you deem loved, but given the chance you would take their lives to save your own.
Why must I try to impress you? Why do I feel the need to make myself feel small, out of some kind of need to fill your ego?
Would you crawl on your knees to save me, to pull me up from the depths of the torment which beckons me? Or would you leave me to rot amongst the tree roots which have died there?
Why should you be the one that gets to hold that warmth at night? Why do you get to grip the rope which pulls your head above water?
Has your own fear made you fragile? Has it become such a burden that you can no longer hold the light, the one which has given guidance to so many before you?
Will this be the end of you, of me? Of us? Should we forever be stuck with our sins?
The world owes you nothing, yet you take what isn’t yours and you destroy what little life I have left.
At night, you sleep with a devilish grin on your face, not caring if the world around you burns.