In the middle of the night,
I'm sleeping.
In the middle of the night,
I'm dreaming.
So don't worry about my well-being...
I'm perfectly fine, submerged in my subconscious.

When they start to see what's written between the lines
When they concern themselves with the opinions of others
When they become self-conscious
When they go with the crowd
When they watch someone die
When their nightmares become reality
When they accept that their reality is an illusion
When they find out they were adopted
When they lose self-confidence
When they can't look their mother in the eye
When they steal to survive another day
When they're left to fend for themselves
When they see the flaws in society
When they just accept the pain
When they fall and just don't want to get up
When they find the wrong role model
When they hide behind a mask of fake composure
When they give everything to somebody
When they start looking at their Daddy and cringe in fear
When they feel they have to hide their tears
When they no longer feel safe in their mother's arms
When they see through your lies
When they lie to themselves
When they're no longer accepted
When they're raising their siblings
When they break someone's heart
When they break Grandma's antiques
When they care naught for others
When they deceive
When they cheat
When they hate
When they hurt
When they ****
When they destroy
When they love
When they lust

That is when a child loses their innocence.

Should I say it?
Should I wait?
My feelings flow quite easily,
but these questions are much harder.

God knows it's a sin to dare say it first,
but I can't help and almost say it
every time we say goodbye.
I know that's probably really bad,
but I don't care
Because with you....
no one compares.

I also can't help but doubt
that I could possibly keep you.
I mean, with all the obstacles in our way
it's not like we should be together now...
but we don't wait.
I can't wait.
It's literally impossible at this point.

I want to say it.
Because I know I'll mean it.
But uncertainty makes one hell of a delay in the process.
I don't know if you actually feel just as strongly.
And that scares me.
It does with you more than anybody else.

Maybe I'm just kidding myself for wanting to say it.
For feeling this way.
Because I shouldn't,
but I do.
And there's not a **** thing I can do about it,
until we're face to face, that is.

I want to say it
but I shouldn't.
I want to say it
but I can't.

Should I say it?
Should I wait?
My feelings flow quite easily,
but these questions are much harder.

I walk along these cracked streets
Taking in every crevice, every patch
And cannot help but admire
its character throughout time.

By night, the rain fills in the openings between the asphalt
By day, the sun rises and the water fades away,
And I cannot help but understand
that this cracked street and I have a lot in common
as I look inward and consider
all of the cracks
in my own being.

Some nights, the tears flow, mingling betwixt the cracks
in my heart and soul
flowing without direction.
Most days, the sun rises
and by that point everything within has dried.
There's no real point in fixing me,
because like the road that I walk upon,
there are simply too many cracks for people to pave.

It's not a particularly bad thing,
I've just accepted it and continued on.
After all,
I admire this old street for its character,
and so too must others do for me.

I've firmly shut one door in love
and slowly creaked open another...
In an attempt to eventually find what I'm looking for.
For the pains of love to be worthwhile.

Even though I knew it was finished before it began,
even though I knew that I never truly had you,
even though you told me I had a chance,
it was only almost, but not quite.

Even though you told me you loved me,
you turned right back around and held someone else dear.
Even though I thought I was content,
I wanted all of you.
Even though you brought me to tears,
I thought it was worth it.

I'm tired of trying to care,
tired of trying to talk,
tired of you wasting your breath
and my time.

You always told me that it was better to have loved and lost
than to not have loved at all,
but I'm telling you now that you're wrong.
I wasn't happy
I wasn't myself
I wasn't your only one.

Even though I see you daily,
even though you want me back,
even though you want to interact,
I feel nothing.

For you robbed me of everything I had
and then some.

How on Earth am I
ever to cope with this sense
of absolute dread?