Where am I in the middle of the night,
lost with nobody to talk to,
not even myself.
Where is everyone in the middle of the night,
while I’m here silently dripping tears,
wishing they were here to comfort me.
Where is my support in the middle of the night,
as I’m wishing for hands to drag me,
out of myself and out of death’s grip.
Why do I cry in the middle of the night,
over every little painful memory,
even the ones I don’t quite recall.
It tears me to shreds,
suffering alone,
but I wouldn’t show anyone my wounds,
the ones that dance gracefully across my heart.
A little wound can get infected though without care,
oh how I have learned that well,
but who comes to save you when all the ambulances are busy?