It seems every time i lay there alone with grey skies that glow I can't seem to feel comfortable.
Like my skin doesn't fit, and I miss that girl with brown hair and pale skin when she laughed with red eyes late at night on dark streets.
And she listened to melodies so sweet, had no idea who to be.
Why did it matter when she was so at peace?
Her feelings ran deep through her veins and she never shut off when she was afraid.
She let it sweep her away, faced it all even when she knew her knees would scrap and her hands would bleed and ache.
Because she was strong, and whether she knew if she would heal or not she was certain it would end up okay, and she didn't mind the scars.
Although now it seems the images of being so pure took over, or maybe I'm just terrified of anymore harm.
The world polluted my train of thought, said it's safer to be numb than face things head on.
Said you will never truly matter, don't hurt yourself trying to stay human, it's not worth it.
Oh but how beautiful being present and tact truly can be, I never once felt weak.
It's a blessing to scar, it's only how far you've fought, darling.
