They say that it's over when the last touch fades
My memories will diminish, and with it the pain
The past is the past, and there it should stay
Don't bring it to light, don't give it a name
The marks on my arms, the scars on my heart
The past isn't over, for me it's still lives
It's everywhere I turn; it's here in my head
It's buried in my soul, hidden in my thoughts
It tortures my days, destroys all my nights
How can I be free, don't know that I can
The last touch has faded, but none of the pain
the past illusions dance through promises
crushed upon that silent song
running, while weeping eyes echo the heart's shivering message
clenched, broken shoulders outwardly laugh before
bleeding, unhindered tears scatter my dreams again
wailing, lost; hope, gone
I didn�t want to get used to this being here alone,
I didn�t want to get used to this fear of the unknown.
I didn�t want to get used to not having you around,
I didn�t want to get used to my tears falling to the ground.
You left me little choice, the day you went away,
No matter how much I pleaded, nothing could make you stay.
You went away and though I do know why,
It seems that all I can do is sit around and cry �
Writing another poem you�ll never get to hear,
All the while wishing you were somehow near.
I didn�t want to get used to being so afraid,
I didn�t want to get used to feeling so betrayed.
I didn�t want to get used to this never-ending grief,
I didn�t want to get used to this lack of relief.
There are times when I get so upset,
And these are the days when it seems I�ll never forget.
Memories of what once was will forever haunt me,
And from this saddened some-time I�ll forever flee.
There are moments when I forget how to smile,
When I just sit here, allowing myself to hurt for a while.
I don�t want to get used to not having you by my side,
I don�t want to get used to the fact that you died.
I don�t want to understand the reasons why,
I only wish that it didn�t hurt so much to cry.
Forgotten whimpers blow dirges into the starry night
As empty realities whisper near the door to your heart:
"Come play with my hollow benedictions;
Come play with my insanity."
Crawl in through the window of your soul and shred the memories you have found.
But remember still one simple thing --
Crying cannot end your struggles.
Caught and blown by the shadowy wind, your tortured mind succumbs to the pain;
You, who so hope to be, are not free.