I’m the blue of the midnight when the moon isn’t out.
I’m built of stories and scars you cannot fathom.
I’m the flower in your lung, picking at the thorns in your veins.
I’m the melody that ran dry,
And the tear that didn’t.
I’m the broken ballad you’d play again, and the memory that never was erased.
I’m the adventure of the midnight you carry in your pockets.
I’m the fallacy you learned to enjoy,
Your nightmare in flesh and bone.
I’m the one you’ll wish you had never met,
I’m the last word you’ll bleed before you stop writing anymore.
I’m anything but a tragic heroine.