To be by myself is to be inside myself.
To close my eyes is to walk between he gravestones of my heart.
A cemetery for time; dead and lost, and love ran cold
Like the water with which I wash my heart.
Eyes glazed with the acceptance it will never again be clean.
It has become a love stained sheet
within which the corpse of simple youth is bound ,
dragged downward by the weight of expectations, sinking to the bottom of my soul.
I stare at the gravestones of my heart,
cold slabs of cold love.
I thought all this meant something...
It just reminds of what's forgotten but forgotten it remains.
It's only a flash and it's illuminated, just a blink of an eye,
Then they're open, you're outside again,
Forgetting that life has turned the Walls of your heart to soil.
I blink-hold it.
There is a gravestone; cracks break and divide it's surface like the scars on my skin,
The markings of mistake eating at the stone-
this is my own.
The oldest there.
There lays the empty skin of a child.
A skin I shed when I became myself-
the empty, purple skin of my heart, shed when if became a tomb.
A child who was defined by her reflection in the mirror, not in admiring eyes.
This image is false, only reflecting the fragments of me it desires to see.
Truth is six feet within the walls of my heart-
with an unmarked grave, for how can I call this child 'myself'?
I stare at the gravestones of my heart.
Each one bears a name defining a period of my life
and the version of myself who lived it.
Sam- naive, needy, afraid, confused, insecure, frustrated, vain, shallow.
Luke-selfish, unfaithfull, uncaring, shallow, vain, self-obsessed.
Tom- relaxed, comfortable, mature, insecure, understanding, loving.
Del- selfish, no responsibilty, carefree, not ready for maturity and comfort.
Alex-Alex? Who will you be? Who will I be? Which traits will fill your eulogy?
These names shouldn't read like chapter titles in the forgotten testament of my heart.
I open my eyes and there yours are,
Alive with the fragments of me that you wish to see.
I wish I could offer you a blank canvas Alex,
but I know it's just another blank gravestone
As I feel a shovel measuring out the time that I'll belong to you with each spadeful of soil it throws across my heart.
