(no subject)
And finally you are my enemy.
It has been some journey arriving,
Traveling and keeping me awake nights,
even though I let you sleep all you like
during the day, when I need your help most.
I realize that this never would have worked,
No matter my dedication
no matter the medicine I took
nothing can change this, I suppose.
After all, what good can words do?
I can not fix a thing with mere words.
They are but letters, symbols, smudges of ink
Although I must admit, there seems to be
some strange power,
something compelling and frightening
something empowering these words.
I've tried to understand you,
really I have.
And, in inspecting you, I have found
out more about myself that I might like to have known.
Of course, you were enough to show me
I now know my flaws
I know what is wrong, or at least how to fix it
but you have given me no motivation.
I am still afraid of strangers
I still dream about people I will never meet
I feel as though I will never
never sleep a whole night again.
I swear it's you waking me
so that you can be sure that I see the dawn break
when my clock reads 3 or 4am. It's never the same
You always seem to change the time
but without fail, I see those numbers.
Even the pills don't help.
The chubby blue caplets, rattling
in transparent brown bottles with childproof caps.
I've got five or six now.
I use those little bottles to store things,
but all they do is remind me that I am not in control.
It seem like God isn't in control either,
though I know and believe he is.
I pray for hours. That's what I do, you know
when I cannot sleep? I pray.
I beg to be allowed to sleep.
I lay and work through the things that I've done wrong
the things that I need to seek forgiveness for
Anything so that I might sleep.
But still, nothing. The drugs help
but they don't solve anything.
You follow me home, I know it for sure.
The used to be where I could sleep
but now you're there, too, keeping me up
waking me to watch the clock tell me that I should sleep.
I fear the early morning hours.
It's like I'm hiding from them, almost.
If I see the clock read 3 or 4, I have failed myself
and my day will be terribly long
and tedious
and boring
and unfathomable.
I used to excel at things.
Now I am only slightly ahead.
But I know that you keeping me awake
has butchered my perception, even of myself.
It is like a never-ending circle
and I can never seem to escape it.
Of course, good friends provide good distractions
but then a pretty face comes and mars my spirits.
It's funny how just looking at a beautiful girl,
just seeing her eyes, can throw you off.
Girls have that power, I suppose.
Like words. There is no reason for the power
pretty girls are made of organs
are made of cells
just like me.
but they have some power, some invisible force
Words are made of letters
are made of smudges of ink.
It has been some journey arriving,
Traveling and keeping me awake nights,
even though I let you sleep all you like
during the day, when I need your help most.
I realize that this never would have worked,
No matter my dedication
no matter the medicine I took
nothing can change this, I suppose.
After all, what good can words do?
I can not fix a thing with mere words.
They are but letters, symbols, smudges of ink
Although I must admit, there seems to be
some strange power,
something compelling and frightening
something empowering these words.
I've tried to understand you,
really I have.
And, in inspecting you, I have found
out more about myself that I might like to have known.
Of course, you were enough to show me
I now know my flaws
I know what is wrong, or at least how to fix it
but you have given me no motivation.
I am still afraid of strangers
I still dream about people I will never meet
I feel as though I will never
never sleep a whole night again.
I swear it's you waking me
so that you can be sure that I see the dawn break
when my clock reads 3 or 4am. It's never the same
You always seem to change the time
but without fail, I see those numbers.
Even the pills don't help.
The chubby blue caplets, rattling
in transparent brown bottles with childproof caps.
I've got five or six now.
I use those little bottles to store things,
but all they do is remind me that I am not in control.
It seem like God isn't in control either,
though I know and believe he is.
I pray for hours. That's what I do, you know
when I cannot sleep? I pray.
I beg to be allowed to sleep.
I lay and work through the things that I've done wrong
the things that I need to seek forgiveness for
Anything so that I might sleep.
But still, nothing. The drugs help
but they don't solve anything.
You follow me home, I know it for sure.
The used to be where I could sleep
but now you're there, too, keeping me up
waking me to watch the clock tell me that I should sleep.
I fear the early morning hours.
It's like I'm hiding from them, almost.
If I see the clock read 3 or 4, I have failed myself
and my day will be terribly long
and tedious
and boring
and unfathomable.
I used to excel at things.
Now I am only slightly ahead.
But I know that you keeping me awake
has butchered my perception, even of myself.
It is like a never-ending circle
and I can never seem to escape it.
Of course, good friends provide good distractions
but then a pretty face comes and mars my spirits.
It's funny how just looking at a beautiful girl,
just seeing her eyes, can throw you off.
Girls have that power, I suppose.
Like words. There is no reason for the power
pretty girls are made of organs
are made of cells
just like me.
but they have some power, some invisible force
Words are made of letters
are made of smudges of ink.