You cover up the bullet holes
with resolve and backbone,
more determined than ever to relish the life in you.

You choose to go missing.
You choose to awaken yourself.
You get lost, time and time again.
No destination has become your destination.

You refuse to retreat home
after falling in love with the winding road
that takes you far from it.



Dare to read the obituary
of the girl you thought you knew.

The one who concealed sobs behind paper-thin doors.
The one whose cry for help turned tired.
Dare to stare your complacence in the face.
You let this happen.
You let this happen.
You let this happen.

She called out to you so often
that she knew of your name more deeply than her own.
With each occasion that you looked the other way,
it was one additional disappointment to add
to her ever-growing list.

Her insidious descent into helplessness
could have been prevented,
had you chosen to offer her a single hand
in the midst of her drowning.