this journal must make me look like quite the emo kid...all i do is complain.
what would you do if i told you i loved you?
that these iron screams that wrench open my lungs,
looking for reasons not to run onto the rooftops through broken windows to you,
were endured so willingly?
made for you, by you, even.
so why can't you be here?
right now, next to me.
i sit and ponder weather you even realize this,
this reality of things.
it's me who's doing the wanting, the yearning, the crying,
my fault i feel this way.
this is me who's feeling this, not you,
but you have no idea.
no idea, whatsoever, of the things you do to me.
no realization that you have me in your hand,
that you have every ability to crush me.
yet you sit there at home, oblivious to it all.
that these iron screams that wrench open my lungs,
looking for reasons not to run onto the rooftops through broken windows to you,
were endured so willingly?
made for you, by you, even.
so why can't you be here?
right now, next to me.
i sit and ponder weather you even realize this,
this reality of things.
it's me who's doing the wanting, the yearning, the crying,
my fault i feel this way.
this is me who's feeling this, not you,
but you have no idea.
no idea, whatsoever, of the things you do to me.
no realization that you have me in your hand,
that you have every ability to crush me.
yet you sit there at home, oblivious to it all.