Have you ever...?
Have you not...?
Have you wanted to die...?
Just lay down and rot...?
But not wanting to die...?
Just wanting to freeze...?
Just wanting to not have to be...?
I know it's not creative.
I know you might think it's lame.
And my attitude really and truly was.
But I was in a phase...
And I called it:
The Great Depression.
Not funny at all.
My world became dark.
My soul's light became small.
My heart had escaped.
And it had torn me in two.
In millions and billions and gazillions of two.
And I said that he had it.
But he just didn't know.
I said that he had it.
And, boy, was I in woe.
My heart belongs to what's-his-face.
I try to begin again and again.
I didn't know what to know.
I turned around and everything was broken piece by piece.
I'm not sure what all it was.
It was my light that had escaped.
My heart was gone.
My life run wrong.
A wave refusing to lap upon the shore.
Sure, I still smiled.
And had great fun.
And some days were better than other ones.
But no one knew,
How I cried when I was alone.
I cried at home.
I cried at school.
I wished someone would see me.
But my aloneness always prevailed.
The wind dried my tears as friends did.
I wanted to run crying to the library one day,
But that surging wind just got in my way.
As I ran so as not to be late to lunch,
God above must've had some sort of hunch.
Because that wind dried my tears in my eyes.
And that wind I did start to despise.
I want you to see me cry.
Because then I will have nothing to hide.
I want to stand behind a glass door.
I want you all to see me there.
I want to see who turns away first.
I want to see who turns away eventually.
I want to see who calls for help,
although no one could help me.
I want to see who tries to break down that great big glass door,
although it could not be broken.
And I want to see who stays forever.
And I want to see who asks if I'm okay,
although I really wasn't, but wouldn't tell you that.
And I want to see how long it would take me to be all alone.
I want to go behind that glass door and close my eyes and open them and see how the numbers have dwindled.
and see how my fire has been kindled.
It wouldn't be.
I want to stand behind that glass door.
And I want you to see me cry.