My brain hangs like a bat afraid of the dark.
My brain is both the rain and cowering cat.
My brain says that each past conversation is a ghost.
My brain loves ghosts.
My brain loves to pick at dead and unpromising things.
My brain waits for the dead to blink.
My brain says ‘love me’ then ‘sorry’ then murders
I’ve been fighting to be who I am all my life. What’s the point of being who I am, if I can’t have the person who was worth all the fighting for?