Why do we remember the hurt so well,
While the good slowly fades,
The hurt vibrant strong,
Like a warrior forever known,
The good erased, faded,
Like a self inflicted scar,
You know it was there,
Once red and inflamed,
But then time goes by,
Minute by minute,
Hour by hour,
And you don't notice it anymore,
It's gone, gone, gone,
I remember smiling,
Having fun,
Just about,
But what I was doing,
What made me smile,
Is unknown.
However,
I remember so well,
The feel of the floor beneath me,
As I ran,
Each step echoing,
The only solid thing,
The scream that left my throat,
When they pin the blame on me,
My own friends not caring,
How the hot burning tears,
Streamed down my face,
Yet ice cold,
The wind speeding there journey,
The way my throat closed,
My lungs on fire,
Struggling to keep functioning,
Until they give up,
I remember the panic,
As I awaited the asthma attack,
Knowing my inhlaer was at home,
Two of my closer friends,
Calming me,
My cries hiccuping to a stop,
I'll always remember that,
Whats lost is the good,
Maybe, just maybe,
It's because the good isn't real.
