Seems its
the only other way
back to the child I buried
deep inside my brain:
I saw the light,
but circumstance has
burned it out or
turned it off.
Maybe I could
glow again, just
maybe X really does
mark the spot.
Maybe its the only way.
There's got to be some way...
I can't take much more of this.
I've been feeling
like I'm all eyes again;
feeling heavy and wearing thin.
Perhaps sleep is for the weak,
but the waking world
is killing me.
She was my escape, she
was my liberation, she was
my tranquility, now I'm
numb and cold in frustration,
walking the streets alone in the
dark and cold, kicking stones and listening
to dead leaves crumble beneath my feet,
hating all I can see of me,
loosing sight of the sun
and who I used to be
when I was beside her
when I had someone
when I had something real
and before I felt I
didn't need anything...
Now that illusion is killed by
the recognition that I just need
someone, but not just anyone,
or maybe something.
This is killing me.
I never wanted to need
someone else to feel.
I finally trusted and gave in,
naked and vulnerable,
I went swimming, and now she's gone
and I'm lost at sea feeling
sick over finally trusting,
feeling abandoned and scared,
now I know what I was
missing, what I'm missing again,
and I'm back to watching people like TV
putting them together
like puzzles, overanalyzing,
from an active participant
to passive observer,
a third-person perspective,
the eternal witness,
forever detached, I'm
dissociating, drifting further,
so far from the here and now, so
distant from me, I'm a couch potato to life,
on the outside looking in,
just another walking confessional,
another people-watcher,
sampling life through the stories I'm
fed, the ones they store between lips
until they catch me alone and spill to me,
sampling life through these eyes of mine
that I've become, forever hungry, forever envious,
forever jealous, forever watching
the life from which I receed...
and I can't help it, I've been thinking
maybe X marks the spot and if, maybe when,
I swallow the pill again I could
slip back in, step back in,
and live again;
I could once again
jar the memory,
remember what it feels like
to really be alive.
I could remember how it feels
to belong, to be found, to find that
everything will be all right, that
everything will be just fine.
the only other way
back to the child I buried
deep inside my brain:
I saw the light,
but circumstance has
burned it out or
turned it off.
Maybe I could
glow again, just
maybe X really does
mark the spot.
Maybe its the only way.
There's got to be some way...
I can't take much more of this.
I've been feeling
like I'm all eyes again;
feeling heavy and wearing thin.
Perhaps sleep is for the weak,
but the waking world
is killing me.
She was my escape, she
was my liberation, she was
my tranquility, now I'm
numb and cold in frustration,
walking the streets alone in the
dark and cold, kicking stones and listening
to dead leaves crumble beneath my feet,
hating all I can see of me,
loosing sight of the sun
and who I used to be
when I was beside her
when I had someone
when I had something real
and before I felt I
didn't need anything...
Now that illusion is killed by
the recognition that I just need
someone, but not just anyone,
or maybe something.
This is killing me.
I never wanted to need
someone else to feel.
I finally trusted and gave in,
naked and vulnerable,
I went swimming, and now she's gone
and I'm lost at sea feeling
sick over finally trusting,
feeling abandoned and scared,
now I know what I was
missing, what I'm missing again,
and I'm back to watching people like TV
putting them together
like puzzles, overanalyzing,
from an active participant
to passive observer,
a third-person perspective,
the eternal witness,
forever detached, I'm
dissociating, drifting further,
so far from the here and now, so
distant from me, I'm a couch potato to life,
on the outside looking in,
just another walking confessional,
another people-watcher,
sampling life through the stories I'm
fed, the ones they store between lips
until they catch me alone and spill to me,
sampling life through these eyes of mine
that I've become, forever hungry, forever envious,
forever jealous, forever watching
the life from which I receed...
and I can't help it, I've been thinking
maybe X marks the spot and if, maybe when,
I swallow the pill again I could
slip back in, step back in,
and live again;
I could once again
jar the memory,
remember what it feels like
to really be alive.
I could remember how it feels
to belong, to be found, to find that
everything will be all right, that
everything will be just fine.
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