Dream Life

  I add sorry to the end of my sentences As if I'm sorry for what I say My words are a form of protection That I must strip away I must always be quiet And I can't make any demands When I speak, I must be careful That all my words are planned For my words are weapon One that I can never use And when everything is gone They are the last thing I can lose To protect my very being I must never speak too loud If I ever do speak I will barely make a sound So I always say sorry As if my words burn me My words are my own prison And I can never be free

                                                                          to my mind: we are at war, you and me, an everlasting exchange of indults and new wounds and apologies that always come just a little too late. by the time you say i'm sorry i have already absorbed the blow. a new battle scar has risen on my skin. my body cannot defend itself from you anymore. and i'm scared a truce will never come.