Stricken
with a sickness
of the mind,
so it seems.

Words,
that for a time,
fell so
easily.

Now
they are stuck,
like a lump
in my throat.

Why
is it always
when I
need to write,
that I stay up
and think
until morning's light,
and never
get anywhere
with words
on my page
and that,
my dear friend,
is being stuck in a cage.

Harmonies tangle and release,
dancing in and out of a simple melody.

Voices stretch to the heavens
and belt down below the earth.

The strings wail and tell their misery,
the base drum keeps us moving on.

Light flows from the sound,
encased in darkness that bellow from beneath.

Perfect harmonies are the sweetest moments imaginable,
and possibly the closest I'll ever get to heaven.

On days like these,
in mid-late fall,
when the weather is nice
and I'm learning to crawl.

I take baby steps
as I take in my sin,
and remember to breathe,
first out and then in.

Why is it these days,
that I stare at the rain?
And I think of the names
of the ones who played games?

Then I look to your eyes
and I stare in surprise
because sometimes
I
forget
that
you're
real.

This one's for you my friend,
who sits alone
and is perfectly content.

This one's for you my friend,
who sings along
to their favorite songs.

This one's for you my friend,
who prays
for love to come their way.

This one's for you.

There's no promise of true love
to sweep you off your feet,
and there's no promise
that someone will notice your
god-awful day as you sit,
and there's no promise
that someone won't tell you
that you can't sing.

But please,
keep hoping for that true love,
because nobody can take that away.

And please,
keep singing to your
songs, your singing is
beautiful.

And please,
don't be afraid to say
that you are lonely
every once in a while.

Everyone struggles,
that's life,
now come here and sit.

I care, I'll listen, I'll try to help.