All people are selfish.
Not all people have empathy.
A waltz or ballet dances in my head.
Am I doomed to hear them on repeat until the day I’m dead?
Why can I never write?
Tripping over my words like rope left out at sea.
Now look at that, I've lost all hope of writing an analogy.
Then a rhyme, a spark of joy.
Maybe this could be a song worthy of others to see.
There’s never quiet,
always sound,
never focused,
it's just too loud.
Words used to be my escape but now I can't even write.
I design fantasy worlds where I can fight my inner demons,
the ones that crawl around at night,
as foxtrots in the background are played in delight.
So I'm sitting in a back room, cringing at the slightest sound.
Reusing old lines from old poems and songs.
Things I can't finish,
things I can't start,
and things that hurt my broken heart.
Thoughts that seem stupid but won’t go away,
moments in the moonlight that aren't here to stay.
I'm so tired and yet I've gotten enough sleep
I guess I'm just tired of promises to keep.
There's so much to do
Much I wish that I did
Someone needs to remind me
I'm still just a kid.
Can I have another childhood, can I take it all back?
Would I take back the painful years of torment, of lying and shame?
Would I take back the tears that I have cried?
No. I’d never take back those tears, for they are my story.
There.
Have I done it?
Have I written enough?
I'm tired, so tired, I can't see it through.
Distractions, distractions, they hold me inside.
Inside the dark corners that make up my mind.
So many things dwell inside of my head.
It’s hurting, It’s hurting, make it stop, the little boy said.
Take another step, I know that you can.
