You’re a safe house where my heart goes to hide when I’m feeling empty and dead inside,
which seems to be all the time,
but I swear there’s something in there other than shallow pride and fabricated lies I tell to my reflection just to survive for a little while.
Because, my love, I’m not anything worth saving,
at least that’s what the demons are thinking,
they’re standing on my shoulder,
growing stronger as I’m getting older,
chasing me through an endless succession of damsel in distress,
where you’re the superhero and I’m the villain,
but you’re not always the one who wins;
You see, I have this thing where I become addicted to things that make me feel good,
even if it’s not good for me,
because ignorance has my heart on my sleeve,
made of porcelain from being mistreated, manipulated, and created to feel hated,
you take away from the pain by telling me I’m worth it, I’m perfect, even if you don’t mean it deep down.
You’re a safe house where my soul goes when I’m weary of your ghost haunting me after the lights go out,
maybe I’ve become too dependent on your numbing effect with the way you take the toxicity and flush it out with your promises of better things to come,
spouting them out like raindrops,
but I take them like drugs.
I’m addicted to you and the only difference between you and every other narcotic,
is that when I overdose on you I’m left twice as alone and a thousand times more useless,
not even high for a moment, but instantly at rock bottom,
looking up but uncertain if I’ll ever make it out alive,
when I’m high, though, I forget that you are the home that I’ve built myself around,
my bones being the structure and your unpredictability being the roots in the hollow ground.
You’re a safe house that I lock myself in because the world is a scary place full of sin,
but no religion can spare me from turning to stone,
got me looking down into that bottomless pit after I swore I’d leave you behind,
still, you work your way back to the top,
knowing damn well that you get so deep into your lies that you can’t get out this time,
at least not without the rope dangling from my neck like a medallion showing victory of all the wars we fought co-existing alongside each other.
And when you discover that sobriety is just a facade put on by my need for you swarming through my veins,
swimming in my brain,
yet my body won’t reject you as a parasite,
the reason why?
You’ve grown on me, intertwined with my feeble attempts at leaving you for dead, instead abandoning all hope,
unable to cope with this tragedy.
In your wake, they leave flowers at your grave,
while I’m standing where the sun hasn’t touched in so long,
watching your ghost dance with the condemned in the bitter cold,
and as it all unfolds,
I creep back into the safe house.
No, my bones are no longer the vines keeping us from going astray,
but my rib cage holds a key to the front door,
and when you come back for more,
I’ll be waiting with my crave and my daze,
because, my love, you’re a safe house I go to when I need another fix.
What can I say?
(C) Mikayla Smith. All Rights Reserved.