Tears soak into the clothes that are not mine.

Tugging at the place where my heart should be,

Feeling empty but in oh so much pain.

The walls cry as I sink farther into my bedsheets,

Whispering sad songs into my pillows to help me fall asleep.

Angry sobs rip away from my throat,

Forcing them to be muffled as a knock sounds at my bedroom door.

It is my mother,

Whose heart stands within the heaps of dirty laundry and broken picture frames 

that scatter the floor. 

To see a shell of the child she spent many long years building,

Shredded to pieces.

Age old questions soak within her tears,

Are you alright.

As if a stone cold knife had finally pierced the skin,

I cry, No.

Suddenly the bedroom walls grow eyes,

His eyes.

Staring down at the sinking ship that is my bed.

His voice creating avalanches of heartache,

Trailing like ski slopes along the fragments of my spine.

My skin melts as the memory of his hands dance across my unholy skin.

As if I were made of wax,

and he the flame.

My lungs sting as I beg for the flickering ghastly fire not to be put out,

He fades away.

I am left in the pitch black,

drowning in my tears.

You were the only one I told my fears to,

I'm afraid of the dark.