I know you do not love
the space in my mind
nor do you love
the demon that lives there.
If we had met sooner
perhaps you could have been the lifeboat
sent out to save me
from my drowning depression.
I'm sorry for knowing you
and bringing you in to this;
I'm sorry I asked you to save me
in my own silent cry for help.
I know I am hard to love
and understand if you can't bring yourself
to love me.
Trust me,
I find it hard enough to even exist.
I wish you were there
when the darkest shadows creep through my head
isolating me from everything.
I wish you were there
when the cigarettes aren't enough
and turn in to some kind of self-infliction;
punishing myself for hurting others.
I would rather sink in to
the safe confines of your arms
than sink in to my sadness once more.
I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger than this,
and I'm sorry that you're all I think about.
I'm sorry that you're the only thing making me want to breathe,
hoping I could catch your scent in the air
which would pull me out of this
so that I can devote my time to loving you
rather than finding reasons to live.
Writing hasn't saved me.
Nobody has tried to save me,
but I need you
to save me.