Broken glasses on the floor
And people sleeping on your rug.
It never ceases to amaze you
That these sort of things happen to you.
It seemed like you
Lived most of your life,
Testing the idea
That friends can be **** too.
But, somehow, there are always people
Offering to buy you cigarettes,
And that scares you
In ways you can't properly express.
You watch the rain fall
From the garden door,
Because going to bed
Means being alone with your thoughts
And you can't imagine
A worse place to be.
Everyday
You say you'll try to be more "normal",
But you don't know what that means anymore.
They told you
That the pills would help,
But that the rest was on you;
You've always felt that the only thing between yourself
And the rest of the world is you.
I miss
Not knowing these things
And hurting myself in the most stupid ways.
I miss not being afraid
Of losing people.
What does that mean?
What if I'm a monster?
What if I don't deserve half of what I have?
What if you found out I think these things?
