I used to know things about people, it was all too easy for me to figure them out.
I used to dread the day when I had found out I've failed, when I couldn't save someone. Strange or depressing as it may seem, I'm glad I haven't had to attend all the funerals I tried to prepare myself for.
I used to know if someone had ever been touched wrongly. Unwillingly. How far past their "no's" were gotten. I can't do that anymore, I don't know how to help anymore.
I used to cry at all the pain, I used to sob myself to sleep. These days I try anything just to feel a single tear on my cheek.
I used to hear things without finding or ever questioning the source. I used to sing out my struggles to the sounds I heard while crying on my backyard's swing set. I still hear it sometimes, but maybe that's just my imagination.
My mom told me I used to see angels. All I can remember was being scared of the footprints on my ceiling. Maybe they were angels, maybe they were demons. Maybe they were just early signs of schizophrenia.
Was all of that just preparation? Was it all just a coincidence? Is this real? Is it God's work? Is it fate? Do I believe in any of that anymore???
Who knew that a conversation over cigarettes with you would leave me so confused.
Is our craziness compatible, like taking a drug together and having the same trip? Or maybe we're gifted with seeing things for how they really are.
Or maybe its just you. Maybe I'm lost forever.
I need to walk your path.
I heard sounds in the woods with you But was it the same music? Do we share the same insanity?
Tell me if its a blessing or a curse. Tell me if its worth all the pain. Tell me if I can handle it... if I won't **** myself first. Does the light in everything outweigh the darkness? Tell me what you think about souls now. Does everything live forever? Can you still see their light if they're dead? Tell me what you feel. Tell me what you know now. I want your truths.
This has to be real.
My world has been flipped and turned inside out.
But finally, for once, I think everything makes sense.