Swallowing my own broken knives,
Diced from the inside,
I cry for them.
My friends.
The lost children,
The neglected ones,
My sisters by the blood we’ve shed,
The sleep we lost,
And the tears we’ve cried.
Alone in the world,
Even with each other,
The tar threatens to pull us under,
Fighting is only realistic when we’re together.
We pull strength and love,
The courage to go on,
From our shaded souls.
We barely can go on with each other,
The truest and bleakest of bonds.
It is to be treasured,
But it’s all the more terrible when you drown with your heart.