I've been crazy,
since the day I was born.
A little lazy,
and always torn.
But it's okay,
I'll succeed anyway.

You say I can be happy on my own,
that I am just phony who never picks up the phone,
but I refuse to believe that tonight.

I only know who I want to be,
I don't know who I am
it's getting hard to see.
It's two a.m.,
still won't answer the phone,
he calls but I'm not alone.

I crave your bitter honesty,
how you drown in every insecurity,  
you are the only one I know who scares me.

I'm a friend you say,
but one you can't tell anything to.
You push me away,
then blame me through and through.
You trusted her more,
then she threw your secrets out the door.

Hold me oh so tight,
please I don't want to fight.
I know you hate me and I can't see you anymore.

I've never cared for someone like you,
I hate the way you criticize me for what you do.
Go back to the one you love,
you don't care enough to leave.
Go live your life,
forget about this temporary bliss.  

Unrequited love is such a bore.

Little things I love about you; the way you say "don't go".
Or when your eyes settle on me like a fresh blanket of snow.
That goofy grin I adore that swallows most of your face,
is the same pair of lips that I wish my kisses traced.
The way you hold a conversation is how you hold a bird;
steady, calm, and careful.
I cling to every word.
I was never given a title,
I stopped keeping score.
But for the record, let it show
that I was always yours.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll find a love
That buys me roses every Monday
Even after fifty years,
Or walks across a thousand miles
To deliver a snowbound love letter,
Or drives six hours as a surprise
To attend a Sadie Hawkins dance --
And then I think I'll be content
With someone who calls every once in a while.

i think in a way,
i can sense sadness.
and even though it's different for everyone,
sadness has a way of sensing me, too.

i've always been attracted to those types of people.
you know the kind i'm talking about.
with their sad smiles, and deep eyes.
the kind of people who have a story,
the kind of people who have scars.

those people are my kind of people.
you, first, with your parents divorce,
and your bottled up rage,
and the bruises you gave to me in the middle of the night,
in the bedroom on the first floor,
while everyone else was asleep.
the sadness you carried turned into rage,
and i fought to keep you in check.

and then you,
with your closet secrets,
and the dust swept under your rug.
your sadness seeped through those guards on your eyes,
and found its way right into my heart.
you etched yourself into my life,
until the sadness you felt,
i felt myself,
and your soft touches,
and sweet words,
melted into me.
and then it was all gone,
taken away in a flash,
and you walked away without a second glance.

you, next,
with your ever lasting smiles,
and modest attitude.
you never understand how much fun you are,
because you're so focused and caught up in being sad.
i saw stories in your eyes,
and the more stories i heard,
the more i learned why you were sad all the time.
but i wish the most for you, and i wish more than anything that you could be happy.
but sad people well,
they're made to be sad.
but you kept me in check.
we would talk for hours,
about pet names, and would you rathers,
and truths that i told no one but you.
and for awhile there,
i thought you could make me happy.
but our sadness together was too much,
and i ran and hid from the happiness
that i might have found in you.

you, finally,
you weren't the saddest,
or the happiest.
in fact, when i met you,
i didnt even think you were a sad person.
until i saw what she did to you,
how she broke you.
you are sad,
but because of your secrets.
because there's nothing else for you to do but hide.
you should be able to be yourself,
and live your life how you want to.

thats the thing though,
about sadness,
us sad people,
we cling to it.
we hold on to it.
and we learn to depend on it.
because,
"you can get addicted to certain kind of sadness."
and thats that.