There was a boy, who lost pieces of himself in
the lines of books, he made a home in the
comfort of words. He found himself slowly
wishing that he lived inside of the work of
literature, because he didn’t want to be
There was a girl, who lost herself in the
color red and strokes of a brush. She’d
never just paint on paper though,
sometimes her skin was the blank
canvas, sometimes it was covered
in scars. Most the time she was
covered in red.
There was a boy, and he tried to lose
himself in other people. He’d enter in
between the legs of the girl with the
red lips, and the girl with the curly hair,
and the girl with skinny wrists. He
couldn’t stand being alone, no,
especially not at night. Not when
his mind is wide awake but his body
wants to sleep.
There was a girl, she’d lose herself
after the fifth shot of patron in her
bedroom by herself on a Monday night.
Sometimes she thought she could see
a piece of her at the bottom of the bottle,
but in reality she was just drunk and
There was a boy, and he’d take pictures
of the ocean and the stars, and he’d
spend his days finding beauty in the
nature around him. Just because he
could never find beauty in himself,
and yes, he was just as insecure as
a girl could be.
There was a girl, she kissed too many
boys, and played tricks on her mind to
convince herself that’s what she wanted.
She had three boyfriends in the last 7
months, but she never knew what love
was. She tried to lose the side of herself
that others called sin in date nights and foreplay.
There’s me, there’s she, there’s he, and we all
just try so fucking hard to lose ourselves because
sometimes we just need to get away at what’s eating
us up from the inside out. Maybe it’s a bad thing,
but sometimes humans need to run away from
their thoughts, from themselves. Yet we can’t
because we’re a soul stuck in a body, so we try
so hard, so hard, to get away. We get away in
other things, in other people, in art, in crying,
in reading, in screaming, in searching.
We are searching, searching for relief.