It is broken and it seems,
To be more than it means to be,
They say a picture paints a thousand words,
But my words will speak a thousand pictures,
All in broken frames and it seems,
That they are all the same but they do not mean to be

Hug me as you go to sleep,
Whilst you dream of someone else,
You say you love me but only when I’m not myself,
And you did not think that I had heard,
And you did not think that I had listened,
Now I’m all alone with your words,
And I can only listen, and no longer sleep

Broken things,
Broken things are not as they are,
Things are farther than they need to be,
And I will stare a lonely stare,
Into that foreign reflection on the wall,
Trying to find out who, if anyone, was there,
Fighting my shadow that repeats the very things I did not know were there at all,
If Death pays all debts and takes no bribes,
Then this money I collect won’t help keep us alive,
And I do not care what you shout at the night,
And I do not care if you whispered,
You hear everything I shout at darkness’ blinding light,
But do not listen to the silent things that die in my constant winter

Now I can’t fall asleep,
All I wish is to be someone else,
After all you might love me if only I weren’t myself,
And I do not care what it is you heard,
And I do not care if you listened,
And I glare an angry glare,
Into the scratches etched upon the wall,
Trying to find you and I, somewhere,
Where we could have it all

Somewhere without my bleeding knuckles rapping on that wall,
Somewhere without my murmured madness echoing off that wall,
Somewhere without that solitary shadow that stands solely against that wall,
Facing the wall forever wondering what it feels to feel at all,
Where things are not as they are,
Where things are not as far as they seem to be,
Where I can have it all and you can be with me