The Stone Before Me.
1/16/00
5:44am
There was a time when I was your shoulder to cry on,
I was a body you would lie on, in your arms I’d slowly sigh, on
a cloud of comforting emotions that stretched deep into my soul,
but in there you stole something from me, a certain vitality,
and now I’m left here all alone, staring at this stone,
cold and with no home, and a cold wind has blown across my shoulders,
stinging the face of all my friends, as I push them away
with my ignorance to their existence
with their knowledge of my pain, and how I won’t go through it again.
I can’t let them see me stripped like this, naked in the darkness,
blood dripping from clenched fists,
staring at this tombstone that reads,
`he who lives, flows, and he who flows must bleed.’
I can’t accept this; the hurt feeds the anger and the anger the hurt.
Once I build it up, the damned thing falls apart:
I saw you, I felt you, I knew you, I loved you,
I got you back again, and it ends before it starts,
and through the dreams and aching screams
that erupt from my mind and throat I’ve come to see
that an important part of me died with you,
but you left me with something I thought was dead:
finally, I feel I’ve bled.
[ 09 March 2003: Message edited by: rewiiired ]
1/16/00
5:44am
There was a time when I was your shoulder to cry on,
I was a body you would lie on, in your arms I’d slowly sigh, on
a cloud of comforting emotions that stretched deep into my soul,
but in there you stole something from me, a certain vitality,
and now I’m left here all alone, staring at this stone,
cold and with no home, and a cold wind has blown across my shoulders,
stinging the face of all my friends, as I push them away
with my ignorance to their existence
with their knowledge of my pain, and how I won’t go through it again.
I can’t let them see me stripped like this, naked in the darkness,
blood dripping from clenched fists,
staring at this tombstone that reads,
`he who lives, flows, and he who flows must bleed.’
I can’t accept this; the hurt feeds the anger and the anger the hurt.
Once I build it up, the damned thing falls apart:
I saw you, I felt you, I knew you, I loved you,
I got you back again, and it ends before it starts,
and through the dreams and aching screams
that erupt from my mind and throat I’ve come to see
that an important part of me died with you,
but you left me with something I thought was dead:
finally, I feel I’ve bled.
[ 09 March 2003: Message edited by: rewiiired ]
