It would hurt me to see that sun I’ve run from for so long,
…cold heart, a burning back,
A burning lack of visibility of what dreams would occur if I bound myself to my happiness,
I used to fear being happy.,
Searching corridors and springing around corners for the next disappointment,
That time more personal, that time harsher,
I would tremble with my inability to accept the rapid upheaval of emotion unearthed from my tormented past,
I would keep myself attached to my twisted upbringing and spin out of control for months on end,
I would often fantasize about the glory in the end-
To the swinging pendulums beating at my ribs.
I used to scream when I needed to be heard,
Poisoning my statements instead of polishing my words,
Unwanted attention struck my tender back like loose lashes of slave whips,
With each crack, I would weep in mind,
Crying tears of thoughts my actions would rebuke.
I…had a golden sun holding an unloaded handgun to the back of my head,
It wasn’t the truth in death but the fear of dying dead,
That made me turn around.