Exhausted
Always
I do this to myself over and over
Maybe one day I'll have a brain
Maybe one day I will stop existing as myself.
Maybe one day I can tell her the truth, that this is who I am,
No, the truth is that this is who I am stuck as
She looks like me, and I want to be her, but she is better
She is always better
She tries, she cares, she remembers.
When she wishes, when she wants, she does it.
She never aches, she never stabs herself from the inside out
Because she says something
She speaks, she moves her mouth and says something
And it is always right
And it never hurts anyone
Her words are soft, and she never hurts anyone.
She never wishes her chest would hollow out
Then wishes it would fill when it hollows.
She never wishes that she never had to do anything
Then wish that she had something to solve, something to dream and wish and care about.
I was her for a little while, but I lost her along the way
I had just found her, and I lost her
Or maybe that's a lie
I had gotten so close I could almost touch her hand
I almost caught her, after such a long chase
But was it a chase?
Or did I just watch her from afar.
I don't know anymore.

I just wish I was her, so one day,
When I cease to exist
All that I will feel will be good, all that I want, I will try for.

She is only a dream
That is the hardest part to accept
She is only a dream, and when I tell you what I hate about you
She looks on and shows me what I could be
What I could accomplish
If only I cared like they said I should.
If only I cared.

where can I find a place
that will soften my hardened heart
without disrupting the healing
that has only just begun?

There you are knocking at my heart,
I don't know when it started
Maybe centuries or was it yesterday?
Unknowingly I was being coloured by you.
I am unaware of my first wish but now my time flows through you.

There you are knocking at my heart,
I am already afraid of the cold days without you.
Are you a dream? Maybe a mirage?
Because like a lie I am clinging to you.

There's this book in my hands,
it's cold, even the ending is sad.
I am not insane to smile or read to a sad story.
But strangely, I keep opening you up.

I keep reading it page by page,
like I would touch the moon.
In between the visible lines
like there's a secret prayer just for me.

Now I am weeping willow, but I can't close it.
Even though this story is like the thousand others,
But I secretly keep wishing to
the broken stars and dried wishing well,
Maybe this one will end differently.