It is what you are thinking:
That you want it to be me so badly
you would run until you felt sick.
Bent over and heaving you would realize
in the end it is never worth the cost.
Do you not see how toxic I am?
It is in the hours that passed
while I sat in the rain watching.
I watched it all and realized that life
is a series of understated colors.
Not nearly saturated enough.
You can fix it with markers,
it is never quite the same though.
Fake is easy to pick out of a crowd;
much easier to spot than real.
Like in the movies.
You yell at the screen,
"Don't open the door!"
They always open the door.
It is like that for you.
Try and remember a time before all of this.
Was there a time?
I remember a place.
The grass was soft and I was alone.
It felt nice to bask in the summer sun
before all of the crazy happened
that made this life into nonsense.
Not an unpleasant shift,
but a melancholy one to be sure.
It is what I am thinking.
I want it to be you so badly
that I would run through this maze to find you.
Even when the madhouse mirrors
threaten to consume my soul,
I would fight for the chance.
It is easier to blame you,
but I see it in myself as well.
A piece of me that asks you to stay.
Sit by me on the hill
and watch the flowers bloom.
Pretend that this is much easier
than the boggling mess it is.
The leaves will fall and the sun will drift,
but it will not matter forever.
I tried to remember a time before this.
There was nothing.
It was blank like empty canvas.
Lonely, empty, waiting.
Never meaning for you to feel
the pain that stabs at me, I dove
down into the water for a swim.
But there was still nothing but now.
