Bittersweet

• Under my bed

There's something under my bed,
not a monster, but a void that talks to me, and never leaves anything unsaid.
I never used an umbrella,
Never wore kneepads before falling on my knees.
The day my father left he told me
If you want to keep slamming your head against walls then you must use a helmet.
So after listening to him,
I decided to break my head in two.
I look up and see stars, sometimes I wish I could swallow them too. Sometimes I wish I could drink them the same way doctors tell me to drink water.
Medicine is just a word with 8 letters and no pill can kill the 8 letters of the word solitude.
The void hands me sharp things and when I don't answer him he gets annoyed.
Like a storm, he explodes and stains the walls with red.
I wish he had stayed under the bed.
He follows me to the city and says
The subway is a sewer and we are just rats looking for buffets of dead skin,  we can only find it inside lost bones that once belonged to the ones we loved.
And they fell from our arms when we said we could do no harm and I-
I dropped myself.
I was never scared,
Never scared of hugging the void inside the coffin. I held him with both of my arms and heard his sweet words inside my mind.
Never scared of looking to the things he points his finger at, even though he's never kind.
Sometimes I feel like I'm more flesh than feeling. More bleeding than believing. 
I used to have something and now the only safe place I have is  the space between both of my knees, where I can rest my head and hold this pieces of bones that are close to decay.
The void begs me to dance with him by the end of the day and I do.
We are soft sunlight and thunder
I don't which one am I.
Maybe it's my time to stay under
the bed.
Maybe somethings are better left unsaid.