Even now he sneaks away,
Leaving his family behind.
No longer caring what they say,
He can't stand to be inside.
On the roof, above the twelfth floor,
Looking out to the distant moon.
A quarter million miles more,
He hopes to be there soon.
Now his feet, they dangle free,
On the edge of life.
He knows there is so much more to be,
But has always considered this night.
He hums a tune softly to himself,
Space Bound by Eminem.
He dares not sing it to anyone else,
They wouldn't care enough to listen.
It defies, yet describes himself,
The impossible journey so far.
Wondering if he should call for help,
He examines again the stars.
He's on the edge, a moment profound,
Between two types of infinity.
One the universe that so surrounds,
And two, the end of all he could be.
Both so huge, so permanent,
They both could swallow him whole.
He can't tell where he would be sent,
When they put him in a hole.
He thought he had done so well,
Believing himself worthy.
But as his promises all fell,
His soul now feels *****.
He snaps back to the moment,
And the horror of it all.
But realizing his cares are spent,
He somehow doesn't fear the fall.
This is the only place he feels alive,
When he's walking that fine line.
Trying to recall when he felt the drive,
To stay and live and shine.
He remembers all the lively vigor,
That flooded through his veins.
He recalls what it was like to be a lover,
And let her take the reigns.
It screams through him,
A passion he cannot contain.
Forcing its way through him,
The shocking, driving main.
The phantom tears fall,
Not really there but real.
Time has slowed to a crawl,
As he remembers what it is to feel.
Once again he snaps back,
Reality greets him with a gust.
Struggling to control this attack,
He tries to find his trust.
But he's off his high,
The adrenaline has gone.
Still so fascinated by the sky,
He forces himself to go on.
Climbing down, he sighs aloud,
Nothing remains the same.
The moon is coveted by clouds,
And he hasn't gone insane.
He examines himself, his solid being,
Curious about his existence.
All of what he is seeing,
Seems as from a distance.
He pulls out his keyboard,
The journal of his sins.
The only thing in his world,
That when he calls, seems to listen.
He writes about a tragic man,
And rhymes all of his conflicts.
He locks it inside, as was his plan,
Twenty six little convicts.
Wondering within, in his head,
He scours for the truth.
He fears that it is all but dead,
The honesty of youth.
How can one man feel so alone?
Solemn tears of such despair,
Sitting atop his gilded throne,
His soul begins to tear.
He is so loved, but alas,
Fast love is not his cure.
He wishes for something that might last,
A peace that might endure.
He spends his nights,
In dying hatred of himself.
His many, many internal fights,
Have left him little else.
He denies, but knows it true:
He has finally come to fear.
His trust has finally fallen through,
He can't allow anyone so near.
Betrayed too often, taken and used,
His spirit taken for granted.
Now accustomed to being abused,
All his dreams have slanted.
He now believes that is his role,
The savior and the help.
Each case has taken its toll,
And nobody knows how it felt.
Now he lets a few come close,
But he dares not admit his flaws.
Beaten but unbroken,
Still dodging sharpened claws.
He put his faith in God,
And forces himself to believe.
He often wonders if the book is flawed,
But sees all he has received.
He lives life by logical decisions,
And this, mostly is true.
His heart has never found direction,
When he doesn't know what to do.
Now he no longer trusts his heart,
And so relies on luck.
He's waiting for a girl set apart,
One who loves poetry and trucks.
He drowns within his regrets,
Hating the things he has done.
Remembering the cruelest bets,
And all of those he has won.
Counting the hearts he burned,
Leading them on and on.
Recalling how each finally turned,
After he told them to move on.
He listens to the songs,
The lyrics describing love.
Now he thinks they might be wrong,
As he doubts what is above.
He sees in himself many gifts,
But he wonders if they are imagined.
Is he the one creating rifts?
Is there nothing good within him?
Does nothing really set him apart,
Is he truly just the same?
The numbers say that he is smart,
But he has outgrown his fame.
All his life he has been told,
That he is different, special.
But now as compliments grow old,
He again begins to wrestle.
In his heart he thinks they lied,
Inflating his confidence.
But now that his ego has died,
He dares not reminisce.
He climbed and climbed on great wings,
A beacon of joy and smiles.
But now they hate whenever he sings,
And his jokes don't make them smile.
He rarely screams or loses control,
But he can't comprehend what they say.
An extinguished spark within his soul,
Wonders why they pushed him away.
And so he goes, on and on,
He has not yet found his end.
All that was right is now wrong,
And so he constantly pretends.
Writing words as though they matter,
Laughing as if he cares.
His trust fades as it scatters,
And he keeps stitching his tears.
.
.
.
.
.
I slowly arise from my seat,
Glad that man is not me.
The clouds hide the moon from sight,
And it is far too late at night.
I'm refreshed and even smile.
I haven't had peace in a while.
The phantom tears nearly fall,
As I admire the beauty of it all.
The sky is so wide, so infinite,
I could lose myself within it.
Happy memories fill my mind,
Of all those I hold inside.
Folding chair my comfy throne,
Though tonight I am alone.
But I know that I am so loved,
A better life I can't think of.
From the floor below I hear a sound,
Eminem's Space Bound.
I hum along to the beat,
Wishing my own words so fleet.
One more glance into the sky,
I dream of soaring, flying high.
Smiling broadly, loving life,
I bid the beautiful world goodnight.
