This house has grown cold and dark.
Clouds cover the moon, suffocating the light.
The clock strikes two, and I ask myself
what am I still doing awake at this lonely hour
which grows increasingly sour?
I don’t want to sleep;
doing so would force me to lay in the stifling solitude
of the room where the memories are the most pervasive.
Even in the pitch black darkness,
I’d still be able to see the cracks in the ceiling
that I used to stare at for hours as I held you in my arms.
Those cracks used to make me smile;
now they’re just a razor sharp reminder of everything that I’ve lost.
I don’t want to sleep;
doing so means I would risk dreaming,
of the past I can’t let go of,
or of the future that I still want so badly
in spite of the pain that I feel.
In my dreams, you love me like you did yesterday
and our promises still mean something.
But then, I return to reality.
Every time I do, the wounds cut even deeper, the knife twists even more,
when I realize you’re gone.
You said you’re better off without me and you slammed the door in my face.
But I’m still trapped, chained down to a life that is nevermore.
And I feel so pathetic. It hasn’t gotten easier. The pain hits me in waves.
Every time that I seem to make a step forward, I’m quickly knocked all the way back down again.
So once again, I’m awake at this silent hour. I'm too sad too wake, too scared to sleep.
So I find myself thinking about words.
They say words give you power
but I feel so weak, so helpless.
I write all of these words, but to what end?
Who cares what I say? Does it matter how I feel? Does it make any difference to you how much pain I’m in?
These words seem so useless. They don’t matter. It seems that the words and I have a lot in common.
I’m tired of hurting all the time, of feeling so pathetic, so fragile,
of wanting someone who has thrown me away, who kicks me when I’m down.
I'm tired of living life in these miserable cycles.
What’s the point of feeling this way?
What’s the point of vacillating between sadness, anger and emptiness, with loneliness the only constant?
Why won’t it stop? Feeling these emotions doesn’t have a purpose; there’s no escape. I don’t see any bright side.
I just want it to end but the nightmare follows me as I wake and as I sleep.
We talked the other day and, unlike my words, yours had impact.
You told me you’re sorry, and you said you’re worried about me, which just added more fuel to this wildfire of pain.
The apologies don’t mean what they used to. We used to fight, then we’d apologize and we’d return to normal.
Those apologies had a purpose; they meant that the pain would subside.
But these? They’re not what I want. They don’t benefit me.
I want the apologies of old, the ones that allowed us to return to the status quo.
I don’t want your pity, nor your concern.
That, too, adds to the pain
Because it means you still care.
But you don’t care the way that I want you to, the way that you used to.
So that flicker of the way things were just intensifies the pain.
I quickly return to reality; to you, I’m nothing now. I don’t matter, not the way that you still matter to me.
You’ve moved on while I remain trapped.
I’ve lost my smile, so here I sit, too scared to dream, too sad to feel alive.
So I stay awake at this lonely hour, when I don’t have to pretend, where I can just sit and think about
words.
