maybetomorrow

Hand me your shattered heart I can't fix it But I will let every sharp, broken piece Stab me and cause the pain I see in your face. Let me cry your tears I won't promise I'll be able to cease Their steady flow But I will keep the anguish from burning in your eyes Any longer. Trust me with your aching soul The damage is unrepairable I know But let the torture continue Deep inside of me Instead. You can't. I'm left here Helplessly watching you Watch your life Get torn apart I sometimes wonder I sometimes doubt you. I'm scared to death You'll lose yourself In this mess And all I have for you Is my eternal, walk through hell love. And the crook of my arm Where you can try to sleep your uneasy slumber. Bottom line is, The other day Was a cloudy one And You pointed at your own chest Asked me if I could help You "there". I was forced to Weakly shake my head No. All I could articualte Was a feeble and yet so honest Apology. Believe me When I say I'm so very sorry. *this all came pouring out of me today. My sister is going through a divorce and this are, more or less, my feelings at the moment.*

Thanks for the feed back both of you.

It feels as though you took a piece of my mind and wrote it out. wow.

Loneliness creeps into the hollow between my shoulder blades. It weights me down...makes my breathig shallow. I look around me and see it everywhere. The clueless faces. Nobody cares. Loneliness is my cold cereal for dinner...in an empty basement... with the music blasting. Hoping to drown out the pain. It is hours spent doing nothing...but dreaming of getting away. I feel it at night. When the whole world sleeps but I slowly die. On the roof of my "house"...letting darkness envelope me. And all I can see are the stars that soon become blurred by the tears burning in my eyes. I try to hold them back. Loneliness is a scream trapped inside of me. I'm scared to let it out. Scared to see just how damaged I really am. It is the shadow in my eyes. The crookedness of my smile. The shuffle of my feet. It is my flaring temper. It is my shaking hand as I write this. It is the salty tear that wets the paper. Loneliness feeds on my insides. And never loses its appetite.