How Close Are We?

So be it, i'm your crowbar
if that's what i am so far
until you get out of this mess
and i will pretend
that i don't know of your sins
until you are ready to confess
but all the time, all the time
i'll know, i'll know

and you can use my skin
to bury your secrets in
and i will settle you down
and at my own suggestion
i will ask no questions
while i do my thing in the background
but all the time all the time
i'll know i'll know

baby-i can't help you out,
while she's still around
for the time being,
i'm being patient
and amidst this bitterness
if you'll just consider this-
even if it don't make sense
all the time-give it time
and when the crowd becomes your burden
and you've early closed your curtains,
i'll wait by the backstage door
while you try to find
the lines to speak your mind
and pry it open, hoping for a encore
and if it gets too late, for me to wait
for you to find you love me, and tell me so
it's ok, don't need to say it

 

I allow my disease to take over every aspect of my life. My depression affects my friendships, my relationships, my family, my health, my academics...even my sleep patterns, my driving skills and my abilitiy to focus.

I am frustrated. I am tired. I want to be alone. ALONE.

Leave me alone, I don't need you. Let me live and breathe and play on my own battleground I have created. I will sleep with the bloodstained broken pieces of glass. I will cover with the mounds of empty bullet shells. I will cry into the muddy, overflowing rivers. This is my wasteland.

I allow myself to feel this way. This is all my fault. I am the one who bounds my hands at my side and handcuffs my ability to change. I am the one who sews my mouth shut with transparent threads. Don't let my words scare you. They don't scare me.

My guitar lay musicless tonight. I apologized to her and slowly closed her case and slid her underneath my bed. My pen is restless. It aches to be used, for anything, it yearns for human connection, the way I do. Touch me, I hear it say, through black-ink stained lips, Use me, I am yours.

I know what you mean, I think.

I am a slave to my own convictions. I am jailed by my own sins. I am chained to a dirty bed and my hair is a mess. I could care less.

You don't, why should I?

I am not as crazy as you think, you know. Underneath all of my scarred skins are secrets and stories that I have hid. I am as fabulous as I say. I do have the ability to create and design and understand. I have just as many talents as the rest of you. Somewhere, somewhere.

I remember finding a piece of paper in one of my favorite cafe`s (incidentally where I met Anthony) it read:

 

Seeds To Follow

How Close We Are

Bones of the Earth

Sympathy...

 

I don't know what it means. Something tells me that I may never know.

And that's okay.