My tears are gone,
I have spent so much time filling the ocean,
So that the seven seas,
Become eight.
Who can answer me better than me,
I don’t know how to shout,
So instead I love myself,
Because who else would do it?
I have this infatuation,
And it whispers salvation,
Because I can’t save myself unless I am saving others,
So when my job is done,
Saving becomes a distant plan,
My brain has had time to breathe,
But how did I know that it would be snuffed in the fumes of carbon monoxide and failure,
I am high on disappointment,
Have you ever felt like Peter Pan?
I once flew to Netherland,
And it was there where I learned the reason we had tears,
Because every drop is an adventure your shadow’s had,
When your dreams die,
Your shadow no longer has a place to go,
Whether it was on stage,
Or creeping through hospitals,
Turning a sick child’s mouth into a smile,
When I got back,
I began to re-assure people,
Telling them that they can do,
Anything they set their mind to,
And every tear that fell on my shoulder,
Was a saved dream,
An important catch,
But while I was holding up the bowl,
My own tears were missed,
How the hell do I change my path without changing my company,
How the hell do I deal with myself,
How the hell do i use my voice,
When silence is how I shout,
This is what happens when you can’t sing,
Poetry becomes the bridge to loving life,
And I can’t ever rhym right,
Or get my thoughts down,
Or show what I have to tell,
So, baby, how can I be well,
When my mind is on the matter,
As a matter of fact,
It’s been there for years,
When the worst mistake of my life was believing in my fears,
And I can’t dance,
Normally,
But, then again, Normal is only a fad,
So I stretch my arms until I feel the heartbeat of god on my fingertips,
So I stay on my toes until I am far away from the devil,
But I still feel the fire at my feet,
More than the love in His heartbeat,
Tell me why I can’t believe,
I always stopped myself before,
I told myself over and over that “I’m going to die in a cool way”,
Just so I can reassure myself that there is nothing cool about dangling from the ceiling with a belt,
There is nothing cool about having a face showing blue on the outside,
Like my heart on the inside,
Which side do I hold this gun to,
Which side of my brain that,
When pierced with a bullet,
Removes my thoughts quickest,
What depth do I have to push my razor blade to,
So that I bleed,
And bleed,
And bleed,
Until there is no blood left,
Give me enough pills,
So that I have enough,
To kill three grown men,
Because that would be cool,
Maybe not as cool as being rolled over with the world’s largest rubber band ball,
But, okay, right?
At this point,
I don’t care,
My pounding fists are only meeting air,
And there you are on the pedestal in front of me,
Inspiring me enough to try,
But not even noticing I’m there,
This one way street is about to go under repair,
Because, so help me,
If it doesn’t,
I’ll be more lost than ever.
I can’t sing,
But I sure can dance,
Whether that’s something you understand,
I don’t know,
I don’t fucking care,
I’ll just dance on the edge of death,
Hoping that before I cross over,
My voice is repaired.