i looked down at the stairs of hope
and hoping there’s someone
who will climb the stairs as well
but when i reach another stair
i fall back to hopeless.

i go back
to what kills me
even if i was never found
while being clean
i still go back
to what kills me at 3am.

because i know
sometimes she sits
on the bed
crying and regretting

the choices she wish
she never made
at a ripe age.

I open the door…,
and I see myself;
my tiny self sitting at the corner,
crying in the dark.

I am afraid of the future may hold,
of what I may become or may not,
of how I will turn out,
a father’s child or a mother’s child?
pathetic like my mother?
or abusive like my father?
I don’t get to pick and choose,
It’s in me.

i spent my childhood, like a teenager,
and i spent my adolescent years,
behaving like an adult,
and i tried to go back to my childhood,
i realise there’s nothing,
i realise i don’t remember anything,
i even force the feeling,
to actually feel something,
but- i don’t feel anything?
how is it possible,
that i’ve grown so fast,
but left ‘myself’ behind,
with tattered mind,
and shattered timeline,
alongside the traumatising lifeline.

reach me, my inner child,
let me return your hugs and pat your back when you cries,
and listen to what you have to say,
reach me,
inner child.