You fill me with vexation to the point of giving up.
But something foolish always pulls me back.
Hope,
the drug you can never escape
no matter what rehab you go to.
And for me, it's hold is tighter with you.
Some nights I am thankful,
but other nights are too dark to see the gratitude.
"It's as if all my senses fed involuntarily on him
and deprived for more than a few hours,
I languish,
wither,
die to the world."
I sit and wonder what it would be like to be her,
to have your fingers intertwined with mine
like old friends finally catching up.
To look up at you and see that I'm not a nobody,
I'm a somebody,
a somebody that matter to you.
To be the girl that has you running to catch up with in the halls,
to see your bobbing head above the crowd turn around and smile.
Making me melt into a puddle.
Maybe then I would know how soft the clouds are on number 9.
And what it's like to feel shooting stars collide,
maybe then I would be able to have a real reason
for those swarming butterflies.
But I'm not her.
My hand remains lost in a wandering crowd.
And no matter how many times I hear chasing footsteps they wont be for me.
So I remain the frozen icicle locked inside a tightening rib cage,
making it impossible to function the right way.
My faucet leaks
along with a chorus that sings without me.
She said that maybe I am in an impossible phase,
I guess that's true.
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