I’ve learned the slight beauty in feeling alone.
That allure impossible to explain.
The desire to texture life, a tone
Of that eternal residue of pain.
There are times I need a soundtrack of rain
So I can bury myself in the chest of sorrow
And listen as she hums, “It will all be gone tomorrow.”

There’s a beauty in letting my sting be felt.
There’s a pureness in seeing myself cry,
An unparalleled relief when I melt
And physically touch the tears leaking through my eyes.
“This is what it must feel like to die.”
Secretly I know that I’m very much alive,
But I still say it, as these moments are how I actually survive.

Sometimes my body craves being hollowed
So I empty it of what I’ve kept inside.
I let dark in and let myself get swallowed
By the part of myself that I’ve been taught to hide.
Like everyone else, I possess another side
With an intense capacity to feel.
And there’s a depth and richness in pain that beautifully makes my life real.