The marks we make don’t get to come with us when we leave.
They stay with those left behind as stories we wrote,
and pages to be read.
The soundtrack we created hopefully will be played.
And the songs that walked us through,
may they be reminders of who we were.
Not forgotten or lost.
Always there in some simple way.

Feeling all kinds of insecurities
that no one seems to get.
And tired of all the questions
about where my life is currently at
and currently not heading.
My life shouldn’t be a question for people.  
It’s not their’s to understand.
I live it at my own pace,
and do what makes me happy.
I don’t have to have it all perfectly laid out
or go by the book.
It doesn’t have to be all pretty.
Because what I learned years ago is something so much more important.
It isn’t about how perfect you live your life.
It’s not about how smoothly everything goes
or how many successes you can add up.
It’s waking up each day seeing the sun shine,
and knowing you get live.
That you chose to live.
That you’ve survived,
and with each breath and every heartbeat,
you are still here.

His mind’s a mess,
a constant battle between angels and demons.
Nothing ever goes right.
So he comes apart at every seam.
What was once on the outside no longer there.
All fallen into the darkness.

Turning the page on a chapter that was hell.
Hoping by some miracle the story will change plots.
And if not,
I’ll just burn the whole **** thing.
Start all over and hope for the best.

A glass is a glass
until the glass leaves you f’d up.
Fighting the midnight train in some bubbly
that drowns you into abyss.
You can’t hold on,
because holding feels far worse than letting go.
So you let go with the glass still in your hand.
The hole still in your heart.

I showed up at your doorstep
all kinds of confused,
clouded by the way we let things fall.
It was my fault,
my mess that I threw at your face.
Like bullets,
I said everything that tore us apart.
I trashed not only you and I,
I trashed myself.
Tore apart everything about me.
Shattered and dropped what we had to the floor like glass.
And now these **** thoughts won’t let me get over them.
So here I’m am,
standing in the rain six feet apart,
hoping you’ll open the door.
Because as much as the confusion is begging me walk away,
the apologies in my heart won’t let me go.

I’m sorry...

If it’s the last thing I ever say,
or the last thing you hear of me,

I’m sorry.

Scary and unknowing,
I turn off the noise.
Too much,
too little,
and the days don’t go fast enough.
If I take another breathe at least I know I’m still here.
Life is so broken now,
and the world we took for granted leaves us all connected.
Home becomes the constant,
and the things that once were so normal are temporarily gone.
We find other ways to pass the hours.
So in this scary and unknowing time,
I turn off the noise.