I used to enjoy the hollow halls of my heart, it was safe nothing there to hurt me.
Now it's just lonely.
I miss the warmth, crowded halls filled with glass shards and coffee grounds, green trees in the windows and blood from my veins.
I miss the writing on the walls, the poetry unsaid, the depth to it all, now it's just grey, so non personal.
My eyes used to be my favorite feature, but they don't hold anything anymore.
Maybe hands too strong and my mother lying on the bathroom floor drunk, but no you won't find the girl you loved.
I am no longer the girl with the spilt ink, or breaking bottles, no, I am the girl who painted over any pain she might've felt.
I am the girl who let bullets live inside her lungs, and didn't wince once.
I am the girl who fought, nothing more.
