Worry is the runner on my mind;
it races around the circular track without knowing the finish line
My chest is heavy with the weight of stress
I am stuck in a riptide
tossing and turning to avoid suffocation
waves of regret collapse over me
I breathe in their salty disposition
It spills out my tear ducts
I drown in my thoughts and bathe in drowsiness
I choke on feathers and the counted sheep
Red eyes so fixed on the clock that creeps
Oh how I loathe the evening heap.

I kept the stubs from the movie of our first date,
And a vial of the sand we once walked on.
Snippets of words you've said to me
Commited to my memory.

I've seen so many face,
None of them feel like you,
None of them feel like your soul,
None of them feel like home.

I watch you
Day after day,
Standing in the doorway,
Waiting for you heart
With both feet at the entrance,
And my heart on my sleeve.

I remember what it feels like to hold you.
I could never forget that.
I could never forget you.

And in the doorway,
I realise,
That it was you,

Its always been,

YOU.

There is only so much of yourself that you can give away
until there is nothing left
And I was giving you parts of me
that I never even had.

And it's not that I don't love you
It's just that it hurts
It's just that everything hurts

How the **** do I stop hurting?

I wake up every morning
Force myself out of bed
Maybe shower, brush my teeth
Maybe force myself to eat
Keep myself alive

But truth is I don't want to be
I pray for death daily
And I'm sorry
I'm so sorry
You had to meet me.

Everybody's searching for them,
Everybody's consumed by them,
Everybody's trapped in a circle to complete,
Everybody's here for a story to tell,

a story that's lost in time,
a story that makes us feel more alive,

a dream that makes us who we are,
a moment that changes us forever,
a feeling we're chasing for eternity,
a wish we're hiding in vanity,

So many we are,
So few we can be,

All these stories we're running after,
All these stories we're running away from,
All these stories we can be,
All these stories which were meant to be,
All these stories we're afraid of,
All these stories our hatred is made of,
All these stories we love,
All these stories we yearn,

So many stories to tell
So little, is Infinite itself

And at the end we'll know
we're not the stories we chose
Because one day every story ends
leaving us with a new life to begin

cut me open
and let all the
ink run
from these veins,
until my words
bleed dry,
and only
blank pages remain.

If we could mend a soul
with a quick and easy fix
If we could just jump into
the chaotic spinning mix

Then life wouldn't really be
worth the gold
Which we find buried within
every persons' story told

We must find time to
listen, love and learn
This in and of itself is the
only way to catch your
worldly turn