You told me things would be alright
So why I am still grieving?
Six weeks, no relief
From the pain I try to avoid.
It seems to find me at every corner
Chasing after me
Like a snake in the grass
It constricts my body
Until I can no longer move.
My limbs go limp
And my white knuckles
Fall away like pedals
Of a dead and rotting flower.
I am isolated
From all the old friends
Who thought they knew me
Before I checked out of life as we know it.
I did not want to be a bother
As it seemed I was becoming.
So I crawled back into my old shell
Retreated to my cave
And shut my mouth.
No one wants to talk about it
And I don't want to deal with anything
So does that make me a bad person?
The fact that I will do anything and everyone
Just to repress these feelings?
I don't know.
I just... wish I knew.
Sometime I wonder if anyone can save me
And other times
I don't want a hero.