tales of memories long forgotten
in empty halls of words misspoken
my chest is caving in
in these empty rooms where ghosts of happiness and laughter roam
and what does it mean
when i'm sitting in my own bed
and i plead, i want to go home?
i'm broken, shattered, bruised and scarred
and home isn't where you were born,
it's where you are.
i'm torn, i'm tired.
i've heard the gunshots fired.
i want to die
i want to die
but not like this, i say to myself
i want to die, but not like this.
with scars that aren't visible to the naked eye on my wrists.
and the bruises that mysteriously appeared on my legs and arms
and the broken promises that you never meant any harm.
you're a liar
and this is my heart
coming apart, in tatters.
here's a sobbing session, long overdue
and all the things you said to be true.
i am right and you are wrong
they blame the alcohol, but for how long?
here's my heart
right on these pages
these words are written in my blood
and what about the minimum wages?
that's not nearly enough to buy food
or raise children.
storm child, of wind and flame.
you may think this is random,
something that is just put up and together
for it to rhyme.
but see, there's where you misunderstand
my heart is this
this is my heart
skipping between subjects
skipping between beats
calling out for loved ones, long since dead and gone.
and the war cry, stretching over the break of dawn.
signaled the end
for those loved ones now dead and gone.
this is my heart
skipping beats
not out of love
not out of happiness,
nor sadness nor pain
but just because sometimes
i forget to exist
and i forget to breathe
and in those moments, i see the stardust swirling in my veins
for i am a galaxy of my own,
woven in darkness, sprinkled and scattered with stars of memories.
this is my heart, love it or not
it's the only one i have and the only one i've got.
and when there comes a day
when this is all nothing but a bad dream
when there comes a day,
and there will,
when no one will remember our names.
when the stars will twinkle
and the moon will shine
and the sun will warm
when it remembers us,
even if no human does anymore.
one day when we're nothing but ash and dust.
when over the years of too many uses, things will come to rust.
there'll be a time when people used to scream our names, yell it in the battle cry, hear it in the drum beats.
and then there'll come the day and then and now
when they will only whisper our names
in happy beginnings, very happy middles,
for they would never tell the kids our endings.
there'll be few left alive who remember what and who we were.
were we the angels?
were we the demons?
were we the humans?
were we the warriors?
were we the heroes?
or maybe all this time...
were we the villains?
this is my heart
and this is my soul
tales of young and old
and memories long forgotten
voices that no one remembers
stories that somehow stopped being handed down
this my heart
this is my story
this is me
this is it
this is us.
we were the angels
we were the demons
the humans,
the warriors,
the heroes,
the villains,
the survivors.
yet all for naught,
all for one and one for all,
all men are created equal
but not in their souls
all so magnificently different
in so many aspects
each, a labyrinth.
and when we return to where the stardust in our very veins came from,
i wonder...
i wonder if anyone will remember us.
will they tell our story?
forget our names?
forget all we did, and the people we saved?
things left unsaid, promises left unfilled.
