"Cry my a river,"
Whenever you would cry.
Drove out of town,
To drown in that river,
But it ran dry.
So I drove back, singing,
"This won't be that the day that I die."

Don't let me go,
I need you to burden me.
Those memories no longer grow.
I needed your roots to feed me, too.
I hid behind every one of your regrets,
So you never said you hated me, but I do.

I walked alone.
Ran apart.

Here we go,
That's what I'd tell myself.

I'd run in,
Throughout puddles,

Into heartlessness.
But that's fine,

I'll be just alright.
That's what I'd tell myself.

My opinions are quiet,
My strains subdued,
I listen before I speak.
Please, don't take that as rude.

I'm not asleep.
My ears are not closed.
My head is simply down,
With my thoughts undisclosed.

Writing is a way of formulation,
For my poor thoughts, exploring.
On the outside my countenance is dull.
But here in my head, it's anything but boring.

Until I learn to die,
I'll thrive, in the cesspool of my mind.

After I learn to shine,
I'll realize that the stars never tried to align.

What won't **** me, deepens.
Shattering what's left, sending me off the deep end.

I'll never learn to condemn it,
And you're sheltered by my effort to transcend it.