Concrete

Have you never wanted to punch a wall? Have you never wanted to put your hand into the fire? Have you never thought of being someone else?

I wish for a thunderstorm in my heart that puts out the flames. I wish for a hand that strokes the back of my head when I’m in pain. I wish for a shoulder that I can bury my head and cry my tears into.

All I want is a bed that’s not always half empty. I’m not quite enough to make it half full.

I want to be held, I want to feel weak and know that it’s alright. I want someone to be out there.

I’m so tired of playing catch in the dark, cat and mouse, house of cards. Because I can’t see with my sunglasses on, and the glue doesn’t hold nearly as long as I want it to.

Why are there always only embers and dark nights? Why can’t there be a fire at sunset? Just for once. And why do I feel like I’m always so lost, stranded and suffocating at the same time?

The glasses break in my hands. My hands break on the concrete. The concrete stays solid.

I’m too weak to fight myself. I fear that I’m going to destroy everything I hold dear.

I fear that my heart is stronger than my mind.

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