I am nothing more than
A little boy inside
That cries out for attention,
Yet I always try to hide
‘Cause I talk to you like children
Though I don’t know how I feel
Asphalt. Blood. Rain. Taste of your lips pressed against mine. I drove you away and I know that now. Your dampened hair against your cheek, are those tears my love? My affection made you cold? I take your hand and press it against my chest. It beats for you, I once said. It will always beat for you. And I feel your slipping away from me and I want to cry out.
But I get ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
[NOTE:] It took me about an hour to write just that and I’m still not happy with it. I’m probably going to scrap it as a failed attempt of something I’ve been drafting over and over again for years.
I’ve been depressed again lately to the point that the things that once bothered me before – counting ice cubes, lights, noises, doing things in evens, etc. – have started up again. I don’t know what’s going on in my life, but my thoughts are drowning me. Forgive for who I am.