Stranger Words

Dear Lucretia,
Have you paused to feel the rain lately?
Because I know I haven't.
I've just watched it pass through
dirty, nicotine stained windows.
My glittering safeguards don't suffice;
I've found that I am lacking strength.
I don't have the will to heal anymore.

These secrets that cling to me
quickly unravel as I probe them.
They are afraid of my questions,
scattering to avoid being evicted,
and I wish I had enough pride
to chase them out for good.
Maybe then I'd be complacent.
No more shadows to battle.

I catch myself casting illusions again,
laughter billowing in my screens.
I am lonely and so I am writing strangers,
watching the world drift by as always.
The way this room smells reminds me of
someone I once knew, still crave.
Feel the stab of need run through me,
electric and violent and full of shame.

I miss feeling like I am valued, and...
most people can't empathize with that.
They can only estimate from their own loss,
tiny fractures that never did much damage.
They've never been broken before.
I shouldn't even be burdening you with this,
but my heart can't take the silence.
I can't take this seperation anymore.

I struggle now to recall words to describe
my blasphemy, my graceless fall.
I could taste the pain on my tongue,
feel vindication in my palms.
Scatter to pieces beneath steel,
stain the filthy remains.
The heat rose through my brain,
drove me further beneath the surface.

I have opened my eyes to destruction.
Blood, bruises, tears down an angel's face.
It never crossed my mind that
I might actually destroy everything.
I am standing in the rubble of me,
singing softly to ghosts.
A soft whimper in the wake of
unyielding rage, selfish screams.

Have you paused to feel relief lately?
Because I can't remember being clean.
The stench of guilt overpowers me,
chokes forgiveness from my lips.
Light another one, inhale and cry,
I've gone so long without walking.
And I wonder now if you've ever
been in love, watched it burn.

I've kept the ashes everytime,
smouldering remains in my chest.
Years of dust gathering on boxes,
all my scars tucked into corners.
I'm weary of shuffling them around
to make room for whoever wants in,
and I cannot stop looking at them.
I cannot staunch how my heart bleeds.

Her face haunts my mind.
Like a cold wind, she strikes pain
through all my little holes.
My faults have never felt so obvious.
I wonder if you can see them.
What you must think.
I don't think you'd believe me
if I said that I want to change.

But I can't stop thinking about time,
and how it is always changing.
Like a woman's mind or my personality.
It seems the circular track of my mind
has something positive playing lately.
One little note in a symphony of noise,
rising, struggling against the walls of my heart.

Sincerely,
Me