I am an exile of a thousand words
I am a prisoner of these wounds
I am a fugitive bound to flee
Yet still I fall into this fracture

I still feel the pain of being unloved
I still taste the thorns in my throat
I still hear my mother cast curses
I still glimpse her leave the room

I am still 10 years old in the soul,
bent over a sink with a knife
I am still counting pills in the cabinets,
walking alone on a road at midnight and
writing my last goodbye

I am 15 and trying to overdose on the couch
I am 15 and too young to know how to die
I am 17 with friends who cannot hear me
I am 17 and dream to not survive
I am 22 and planning to drive off a cliff
I am 22 and plead with myself to live

I am alone in a multitude of places and
I am still broken for home