Unsafe Safe
"No you won't disarm my heart"
So much to say, but it's all better left unsaid.
It's one thing to brew over what or who I want--which with out a doubt is the only positive and definite piece of knowledge in my brain, in my heart, and the movements of my body--but it's another thing to not know who I want to be.
I can't even be who I used to be. I refuse to be. I cannot be, and who ever it is that I will be..might be who I am. Who ever that is. Who else?
To be. I am. Is. My ability to subconsciously alter these states of mind falls right on the tops of my eyelids. And every night and every second that I close my eyes, all I see is the past that passes before me as the red raw thing in my chest convulses with what it possesses.
I am not getting better and I am not letting go. The trees are shaking away their seasons like they should and I am telling myself it'll get warmer. But I cannot get sick as long as I'm this sick. It's hard you know...having my mouth shut because I know, and this I know that I know, I am not as alone as I am just on my own. Because I'd rather take the alone and save you from some predicaments I've already begun. And so I know, but what now?
I cannot walk around with my heart weighing me down. I cannot walk around with these pictures in my head that I could be enough someday because I don't really know if I ever could. Not in this world I'd forcefully taken because it was the only door open. And I beat myself everyday with this knowledge and what I could've done, what I could've said so I wouldn't be so far down in this hole I've dug.
Because in this hole, the soil is heavy and moist. The textures beneath my feet are taking me under with other and unknown substances to be decomposed and swallowed away from any search. And so the humidity of what could only be the cause of the quantities of my thoughts float up my nose to linger in my head as the pungent haunting of everything I could never be, I could never have, but I could always just want.
So I'm torn. And my heart is always on the verge of ripping down and apart and never belong to anybody, not even myself. And for someone that has much to say with it all better left unsaid, I have said way, way too much.
It's one thing to brew over what or who I want--which with out a doubt is the only positive and definite piece of knowledge in my brain, in my heart, and the movements of my body--but it's another thing to not know who I want to be.
I can't even be who I used to be. I refuse to be. I cannot be, and who ever it is that I will be..might be who I am. Who ever that is. Who else?
To be. I am. Is. My ability to subconsciously alter these states of mind falls right on the tops of my eyelids. And every night and every second that I close my eyes, all I see is the past that passes before me as the red raw thing in my chest convulses with what it possesses.
I am not getting better and I am not letting go. The trees are shaking away their seasons like they should and I am telling myself it'll get warmer. But I cannot get sick as long as I'm this sick. It's hard you know...having my mouth shut because I know, and this I know that I know, I am not as alone as I am just on my own. Because I'd rather take the alone and save you from some predicaments I've already begun. And so I know, but what now?
I cannot walk around with my heart weighing me down. I cannot walk around with these pictures in my head that I could be enough someday because I don't really know if I ever could. Not in this world I'd forcefully taken because it was the only door open. And I beat myself everyday with this knowledge and what I could've done, what I could've said so I wouldn't be so far down in this hole I've dug.
Because in this hole, the soil is heavy and moist. The textures beneath my feet are taking me under with other and unknown substances to be decomposed and swallowed away from any search. And so the humidity of what could only be the cause of the quantities of my thoughts float up my nose to linger in my head as the pungent haunting of everything I could never be, I could never have, but I could always just want.
So I'm torn. And my heart is always on the verge of ripping down and apart and never belong to anybody, not even myself. And for someone that has much to say with it all better left unsaid, I have said way, way too much.
_
