Running away stung.But going back is fucking,fucking me up.
Going back to the home that never was anything more than bricks and stones.
Going back to the loved ones who lost love long ago.
Going back to those friends,who held on,but it hurt them to hold on to me.
Going back to those promises that were broken more often than they were made.
Going back to his arms.Arms that I so desperately ran into and escaped from at the same time.
Going back to the crooked holes I spent my tangy nights in.Those empty shady places that still terrify me.
Going back to those low,hollow hits and eerily quiet nights that deafened me with their piercing screams.
Going back to those other nights,nights I prayed for silence,because the screams were real.Too real to be okay.
Going back to those just right words and deeply messed up feelings.
Going back to the people who began giving a fuck when I ran away a hundred miles away.
And some who forgot their pathetic excuse of a vow,just as i stepped out of their LOC.
Fuck me for not wanting to go back to home.
Don't you know,I never had one?
YOU ARE READING
MADE-UP.
De TodoThis is a collection of quotes,scenarios,poems,one-shots aka a one stop for all those little,fleeting thoughts. I hope you find what you seek.
