It's an odd thing
How I was so loved
When I was made up entirely of flaws
Every mistake I made was forgiven
Each new promise taken with a grain of salt
Yet now that I am better
More genuine and whole
With no apologies to hand out
Over mistakes of the new day
Everyone I love is gone
And I am all alone
Shiny and new
But I'm beginning to think
That bettering myself
Isn't worth losing everything else

I woke up this morning and for no particular reason wanted to die.
So I stayed home until that feeling passed, as much as I felt it was going to anyway.
Then I walked out into the world and acted like everything was perfectly alright hoping that maybe I could even convince myself. But the thing about it is, nothing is okay.
I am empty, and I am sad and things like that don't simply go away.

I'm not well
Deep down I feel it
The wanting
For what I am unsure
It sits in my chest
On my ribs
Beside my heart
Beating away at the same pace
Desperate longing
Some kind of sadness
The type not so easily
Expelled by things in bottles
And I want to silence it
Make it be still
Just for a moment
So I can continue on
Pass this
Let go of the fatigue
Of the hopelessness
And just be

It's so tiring
To be someone's first love
Over and over
The first person
To put light in their eyes
And the first person
To steal it back
The first fond memory
Tainted by
The first heartache
It is so tiring to be
Both the best
And the worst thing
To ever happen
To someone that
Isn't your first love,
But one of the many
You'll hate to see go

Washed a happy pill down
With three pain killers
And coffee laced with Jack
Slept through the night
But woke up low
Stayed there through the morning
Till the drugs set in
Only thing on my mind
*Here we go again

Maybe we all write about the same things
Because life is unfair to everyone
And we all know the same pain
Because we are the watchers
We are the feelers
We are the poets
And while some people go along
Completely oblivious to the hell around them
We're the ones condemned by it
Because we're the one who see it
And breathe it
And write it
So good luck to you
All of you who write away the same sorrows that I do
Because it doesn't get better from here
I wish for your sake that you had never noticed

We're all writing about the same things
Love and Pain and Loss
It´s like a record skipping
Over and over
Even I'm guilty
Pointless repetition
The same old sorrows
Yesterday and tomorrow
When will it ever end?
Every poet knows the pain
The release
Of fingers on keys
Typing instead of bleeding
Even though it's the same thing
But we just keep repeating
Again and again
When will it end?
*When will it end?