Staying up till dawn,
thought I was getting better
now I'm back at the bottom.
Don't know how I fell so far
when I was feeling that high
for the first time in ages.

I'm reaching out,
bu my had remains cold
and you remain distant.

Trapped in a house,
my only escape is gone.
There is no sanctuary here,
outside and inside is Hell.

I'm begging on the inside,
screaming without a voice
crying without tears.

Hey,

Could you save me?

You'll never know what's on my mind,
it's everything I've tried to hide.
I think I've failed-
Could you tell me why?

All the frustration of being alone,
All the desperation when I'm with others.
It's a constant push and pull,
I'm begin torn apart.

Where I am now,
with no one around.
It's so peaceful and calm and
So...Empty

Where I was before,
surrounded on all sides,
a tiny box of linked together hands
confining, restricting,
too crowded.

Where's the in between?
The middle that I crave?
I've only been there once...
but only in my dreams.
I don't even have those now,
So imbalanced by nature.
One's too little,
two's too many.
where's that point five?

There is nothing like waking up exhausted.
You want to go back to sleep, but you can't.
You aren't sure if you were asleep to begin with.
You had laid in bed for so long in a half-asleep haze
that you can't be sure whether you finally slipped into your dreams or not.

But going by how miserable you feel,
trying to force tired limbs out of bed
while your eyes want to close for just a little while longer,
You can only assume the answer.

What time did you wake up anyway?
3 or 4 in the morning?
What time did you go to bed?
9 O'clock?
You should feel less tired,
but the reality is that you took three hours of tossing and turning,
praying for sleep,
before finally slipping into it for just a few
scarce moments before you're
jerking back away at some ungodly hour
just to spend the next two trying to fade away again.

And then you have to get up.

She wakes up alone, thunder roaring distant warnings and churning up her worst memories and instincts.
She is desperate in her need of comfort,
scared of her loneliness,
And ashamed of her fear.
And ******* the storm!
******* this hollow need!
I've paid for my sins
But never enough, it seems.
Never completely.

Nothing helps.

And she wants him to hold her
But the French death only brings him drowsy to sleep.
She touches his back with cold fingertips and ignores the gnawing sense that tomorrow is still on the way.
He snores and she wishes life had been, if not different at least, bearable.
And ******* these worthless men!
******* the empty!
It was full of you once.
Nothing else is enough.
Nothing helps.

In the evenings she stares at the wall above her desk.
At the place where it used to be.
At a future that was taken. Stolen away.
******* the silence.
******* the absence.
**** it.
******* it.

******* the last kiss.
The chances always missed.
The hope she watched die.
Tomorrow is on its way
and somehow, she knows,
she'll have to get through another
Vicious
Day.

Aside:
The sun sets and the moon grows bold.
People grow up, grow old.
And so what if every story's been told?
So what if the telling leaves you cold?
Still hurts for those to whom it will unfold.
End of aside.

Across the ocean, a world and a lifetime away, he stands.
A boy, perhaps only just a man.
There is in his heart a very similar hole.
And it eats him up and it leaves him broken.
Wanting.
Weeping.
Lost. And desperate.
And he hates his fear and his lonely.
He hates that he hates the pity in your eyes.
But it doesn't help and he can't explain why.
He doesn't know why.
He once knew love. He once felt whole and safe. He knew happy as well as he knew family.
He wishes now only for his promised other. His love is a bird with broken wings.
Sure, once he tasted the sky,
But crippled and low he can no longer fly.
Nothing seems to help.

Her words could help. If he could only hear them.
Because we suffer by ourselves
But we never suffer alone.
"I'm not sure if that helps."
We all say with words and eyes
And they smile, because the thought is what counts.
But inside they know a truth, tried to tell us all along.
They'll get better. Stronger. But that's just getting through another day.
Another day.
Another day.
Because we mean well, they love us, but the truth?
The truth is:
Nothing helps.

Somewhere, you have a home.
Somewhere, someone will miss you.
Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere-
Well I'm sick of it!

I'll never have a home,
And I don't want people waiting for me!

I want people to accept my actions.
I want people to leave me be...
I want them to continue on like normal when I'm gone.

Or maybe that's just because it's all I've ever known.

There are many places
I wander at night.

Some are made of mist,
Some are made of ashes,
Some are made of glass.

There are many places
I remember at night.

Some are a distant memory,
Some never existed,
Some will fracture at the slightest touch.

They always told me
"Life is something to cherish"

But I never learned the difference between
Surviving and living,
I never saw anything in myself worth saving.

Cold clay cannot be coaxed
Without warmth of fingers
Pressed and felt

No mold ever existed without mind behind
Or sculptor without a wheel to turn

Just as fingertip valleys were always meant