My heart has never known the taste of grace,
it pumps restlessness instead of blood through my viens.
I was never a girl who looks for her own peace of mind,
but always searched for wars in every soul I came across,
Craving only the kisses of lost boys with dead eyes,
swearing there is some hidden pot of goodness in them,
and always trying to fix what’s beyond repair.
I have lost every war I have entered willingly,
And came out with permenant damage.
Didn’t know that the only glue that can hold their broken pieces together was my own blood,
The only thing that can fill their emptiness was my entire being,
And even if I knew, I would still have bled myself dry.
I am hopeless like that.
My mother should have warned me about this kind of boys,
Boys who are like gasoline to the fire I carry within,
Whose touches never give me butterflies, but feels like grenades in my belly.
Boys I can’t say their names without stuttering,
Boys who push me to walls, whose kisses leave bruises that time just can’t wipe away,
Boys who are incapable of giving or recieving,
Whose eyes don’t sparkle,
Boys who feed my appetite for self destruction,
Who consume me,
then turn me,
a sad little girl,
with dead eyes,
and a lost soul.
My mother should have told me,
That giving without recieving is not unconditional love. It’s suicide,
That I shouldn’t be with people who dim my light and push me to my darkest places,
That I can’t help people who don’t want to help themselves,
And that the first person I should always try to save,”