I finally sit with people
who have owned my mind,
who have left it astray,
who have come back at inopportune moments
to claim a bit of my peace for their own heart.
They say guilt keeps them awake at nights.
They say they need me once again.
They need to see the smile of another victim
to convince themselves that they deserve happiness,
that they can move on.
They say the echoes of my cries in their head
have grown worse with time.
So I sit with them and tell them that they can live again.
Only because I cannot bear these demands to be forgiven
or the proposals of relationship grown on the manure of my corpse.
So I ask them to forget me, so that I can forget them.
My pain sits on my shoulder, clings to my neck
and sings stories of years that defined me.
How it had no one else but me.
It was so fierce, yet so fragile.
I felt the urge to protect it.
From anything. From everything.
I wanted to protect it from every cure.
I wanted it to be with me. To be a part of me.
I felt I would be a little less me
if it left my body.
I didn’t mind this pain decaying my body.
I didn’t mind it’s echoing cries and lament.
I just wanted it to be there always.
But when pain decided to leave me,
I felt that life has left my body.
I cried realizing that it was never a part of me.
I don’t think I cried cause I missed pain.
I cried for there is nothing in my life I can be sure of.
Not even pain.