“We do.”

The more I try to run away, the more I spiral down
Treading on eggshells in the very city
where they took away my crown
I’m still unafraid, still terrified
Still clinging on to hope
Sometimes I’m pushed to wonder why
I couldn’t let it go
Why does this spirit never tire
of losing every battle it fights?
The victory comes slow, in small doses
Sometimes only once in a war.

What is the point of carrying your head high,
When there is no body left to hold it?
A dignified corpse;
A walking lost cause-
I am all the things I swore I never was.

And you return cold as ice, from the house they are burning down
The one we had built in a century:
In a single moment of complete and utter truth.

But they broke the windows with boulders made of hopelessness
Catapulting in like grenades;
And they took away our smiles
With the raging burning fire!
So now, we are left standing by.
We wonder how it turned you cold
While I got buried in its ashes.

They are stronger than us, I know
The monsters always are, that’s why we call them monsters.
But you and I, we have more power as one,
Than a thousand lost homes.
Or at least I hope we do.
Because God knows we have tried not to love each other.
But God knows,
We do.

Artist: Stoian Hitrov

THE MONSTERS UNDER MY BED.

A drawing found in an old asylum, made by a paranoid schizophrenic patient.

We lie, we pretend, and change shades of truth
We harm , we ruin, and destroy all we touch

But then,

We break, we fall and lose our ugly minds
We scream, we hide and cry our eyes out

So when,

We blame the monsters under our beds,
We are truly just blaming ourselves

Because the monsters don’t exist
Except inside us.