where the wild flowers grow
I am the control you need to stay inhuman,
the fix for your addiction.
I am the wound you like to pick. I am
the intruder under your skin.
I am the blood that makes your veins protrude,
the whisper in your solitude, and the
reminder of why you are alone,
the creaking within your bones.
I am the ever-night, the chill down your
I am the slow passing of the time.
I am your cruel and unforgiving winter, I am
the fire that makes you blind.
the only one who ever loved you,
and not the first not to.
I am your comfort, your suffering,
your inescapable guilt.
not yours to keep.