I'm beginning to fear
That happiness isn't mine.
I feel it when it comes to visit.
I wear it as a cloak,
Billowing and soft,
Tied loosely with a ribbon
Dangling around my neck.
The smooth lines
And Jersey fabric
Are enough to fool
Even my heart,
The harshest critic.
But just as easily,
It slips away.
All I want is to cry it out.
To let the sorrow
And the ache
Evaporate.
To give in.
To take part.
To know happiness for real.
But I always feel so distant.
It never seems to make any sense.
Because I should be so happy.
Because I have so much
To be happy about.
But I feel the shift in music
Like a shift in my chest.
And I've smiled so big
And felt so much love.
But now,
Right in this sadness,
I'm a wafer,
I'm a brittle mess,
And my limbs and
The emotions that move them
Are constant and unkind.
Because fear is real.
And so is loss.
And I can't seem to cope
Without whiskey or kisses,
Without things or satisfaction
That equally break me down.
I want more than anything
To heal.
I want more than anything
To love.
I want more than anything
To let the trained kind words
That are sweeping
Against my soul settle in
Sos I can morph and mend.
But they are outside of me.
They are from the place
That happiness has left.
And where it flies back to.