Vices:

I want what's not good for me,

nicotine, alcohol, impulsive choices.

I carefully hold my vices in my hand

like they're liquid gold.

I want to heal,

but I seem to be a masochist

begging for the pain.

I'll push away the good options

and give myself away on a silver platter to all the bad ones.

It's not my fault that I'm comfortable with cruelty,

that I'm familiar with the pain of being stabbed,

but it is my fault that I don't push myself into the unknown abyss of positivity.

I'll swim deeper into the water

letting the poison in the tides leak into my lungs,

who knows what it'll end with?

Maybe I won't drown,

maybe that's a lie.

Lockbox:

My mind has a lockbox

with a combination I never dared to learn.

It holds the memories decorated in sharp edges

The ones that would make every part of me bleed.

The memory of you is trapped in there,

and when I'm not being careful

I try to pry open the lock.

Some part of me craves knowing what happened,

of unlocking the secrets to the night my body was taken from me.

Now and then glimpses escape,

and I learn to hate another part of me.

Someone else's voice will turn into yours

Someone else's hands remind me of yours,

and the stains they left all over me.

Maybe I should leave those thoughts locked away.

Maybe that's safer for me.

But it's also safer for you,

How can I ask the world for understanding if your actions are locked far away,

in a corner of my being I usually try to ignore.

But maybe if I knew what happened

I'd understand why you stole my vulnerability.

Why did you decide it was your job to be a thief?

You didn't even steal the already broken parts of me,

You didn't try to pick the lock and find my darkest secrets,

the ones I even hide from me.

You just added more things to put in it.

Maybe you knew that,

that your secret of thieving would be safe in me,

in the lockbox

with a combination I never dared to learn.