Ask me what I’m made of -
I’m made of pain
It’s funny if you think of it,
But I couldn’t find a more perfect word for it.
I’ve died a thousand times inside,
For pain is never something you can’t hide,
It eats, it consumes, it becomes a person,
I couldn’t remember a day where I didn’t feel the sharp pain in my chest,
The endless tears that fell on my cheeks,
The faint silent cries I tried to contain,
This is me -
I’m made of pain.
I’m made of something that I’m not suppose to be made of,
But I guess you could easily remember me as this.