Odds don't matter against signs, it may seem a wild claim, but you got me through times I felt pinned in a frame.

You blink away, so easy to lose, and still I choose to follow you in the dark, even when all you can shine is a spark, a weak light, I see it as bright as the only star in the night, unwilling to resist or fight the urge to glare and stare at how good and beautiful existing can be.

That's it for me, the light that never goes out, so complicated to explain yet so organic and inherent and plain to feel.

Sometimes I think I'd eat your pain to let you heal.

Other times I question my perception of what's real and I start asking myself why.

Why would a sad moth persue an elusive firefly, why would she hope and wish and dream to reach an unsteady light, to redeem the past and turn it into history.

I wrote ream after ream trying to unravel the mystery of why your embrace still felt like home.

You had me mesmerized at every turn, I came back after each burn, and still I wonder why my heart is torn apart by your absence when absent is all you ever were.

I wish to see them blooming and blossoming, again and again, filling my cavities with beauty.

The beauty my body could never achieve on its own, because it was broken before it was even grown, thrown in a pit of black mud that dirtied its very soul, too innocent to deserve their laughs, their words, that hell hole.

Now, I'm condemned to live in what looks like a body but feels like a cage, containing the rage I was force fed as a child. All I wish is to escape, but for a fake lock there will never be a key, and I try to keep this locked inside of me.

I looked in the eye of the beast and it left me terrified, petrified, horryfied, to look at my reflection and see someone else's eyes, staring at me with the worst hate I have ever felt, knowing I couldn't call for help, trapped beyond my own mind.