Why do i feel so dangerous
When i ask the simple why question
Its hidden and tucked and pushed
Just outside of my reach or should i say my mind
I want to like the me inside
But every glance of her
She simply spits and spats
In my direction
I think she hates me
I don't blame her
But again i must ask
The same damn question
Console and release my pain to another place
For my head is filled with dread all the time
Though the experience is going paced
I realize my future looks like grime
Emotions run through my veins seeking peace
Momentary recognition fo life
Regrets and lamentations that wont cease
Panic struck bravery with a sharp knife
Reluctance shared our circumstances
It gave a condescending and proud smile
Took a risky and desperate chance
Acceptance was ignored by denial
Suddenly the mind lifted the black fog
And restored a brightness that once more came back
Some wounds never heal before you're cut in them again.
When you're left wondering, "Why did this happen to me?"
But some day you'll realize,
You never let yourself heal,
And it is your fault for leaving your wounds exposed,
In healing allow time to mend,
The deeper the wound,
The bigger the scar,
A permanent reminder of memories you dread.
Time is such
is to come,
just out of reach,
in chasing him,
multiple weeks have passed
But if you're
he ambles along
tripping you up
over and over,
and you wonder
how it could possibly still be the same day.
Does he find our frustration amusing?
I could wake up next sunday, just maybe
if i make it through these weekend nights.
Anyone could tell me about what I should do,
but maybe I wouldn't push and pull through.
It's a different story, one I couldn't write anymore.
Somber's all I am recently, wish I could be sober.
It's hard to get up in the morning and not wish
to have so much more I could do about all this.
And I've paced my elbow room a couple times,
it feels like I'm a stranger in my own company.
Been vexed by the holy ghost behind my back
about faith I don't have and a father I can't see.
Won't take you a miracle, they told me once.
Said the cigarettes and lighters would suffice.
There's also the aftertaste of saturday's vices,
you'd know how hard it is, wanting to just go.
Because everytime I've told anyone otherwise,
I'm no longer surprised to be called thankless.
Though I've settled with pennies for thoughts:
my talk's cheap, arms open, but i'm still selfish.
Rid the virtues from my system, all but patience,
since I've been waiting on all my oppurtunities
but not for the home I've settled to call my own.
There's a way, I know, that's not how I want to go.
Today, I cried when someone asked about my day
because I've been like this whole weekends long.
My thousand tiny terrors yet again take their toll.
Wait for my sunday matinee, it's the last you'll see.
nothing can describe
this feeling of dread in my chest.
not even the cold wind
or the icy storm coming my way.
nothing can deny
this feeling of despair
in my chest
in my legs
in my whole existence.
nothing may torture me
but my own self.