Deep inside your memory
there’s a place that thinks of me
and I fear what those memories
tell you of who I used to be.
I keep mine on replay,
they haunt me, scarring every part,
so much louder than the world,
hard for me to hear the good things I deserve.
I keep the volume high,
those memories screaming in my mind
so they can’t speak to you of:
a perfect distorted picture
words spoken too fast,
and a dream that failed both of us.
I wish you didn’t have to hold them
that I could erase them from your depths.
You don’t deserve what I did
to haunt who you’ve become,
those memories so defined.
I’m the villain in your story
and im so very sorry.