This sadness, this undeniable madness;
it’s not some extravagant plan
I mapped out to inconvenience you.
I don’t lay awake at night perfecting
the details of how I can fuck it all up
again and again and again and again.
Believe it or not, that’s just who I am;
It’s a sick curse that’s out of my hands.
But you keep grabbing it like it’s yours
to touch. You keep analyzing it as if
maybe somehow it can be about you,
maybe you can try to hold it without
getting burned, and maybe you can
say you saved me. You never will.
Any chance of saving me is long gone,
like the ones I once called heroes;
they are buried now along with my
dreams. There are no flowers keeping
those headstones warm, same as
my heart that’s still beating so cold.
I have never been good at pretending,
but there’s an award somewhere
with my name on it for playing alive
despite the times I watched myself die.
I never came back from that slow death;
deep breaths filled with questions inhaled,
exhaling the taste of silence from the
absence of answers that emptied me.
Everything was supposed to be different,
but it’s not, never will be, so I swallow
the way it should have been, and choke
on the survival I never could pull off.
So as you search my eyes for reason
hoping to name each tear with rhyme,
remember the color before the daze
was once a fighter who fought alone.