"I'd offer my soul
if I thought it might help at all.
and I'd follow you down that road
If I thought it might help at all"

I always expel a gasp of pain before I get hurt.
And I'll make a barely audible noise even
if the pain was not that great.
I'm always getting hurt, or so it seems.
Bruises and cuts, scrapes and dings.
My body is tarnished with lavish displays of accidents.

I pricked my finger. Blood surfaced. She brought to me a band aid and peroxide. With tenderness and sincerity, she gently dabbed my finger with a cotton ball. The next day, she made food for me. She's always telling me to take care of myself. She's always reminding me to breathe, a seemingly easy and natural task to most, but for someone like me, it's detrimental to have constant and loving reminders. Most of the time I feel unworthy of her, but she knows that I would give her the world if I were capable of doing so.

My bed has become a perfect place to store
the things I no longer have the time to sort through.
My car seems to know only one destination.

Their support is waning and their doubts
are growing at an exponential rate.
I can't prove to them that my
choices are in fact good ones, but
I can't be bothered with what
people want me to be.

It seems to make most people happy.
But I'm afraid I'm just not wired that way.

There is a slight chance
that there will be room for error.
It has very little to do with loyalty or faithfulness,
but the truth of the matter is keeping
my head and my heart in sync
is something I've never been able to do.
But I'm learning.

I can't wait until the bridge is rebuilt.

I went back to save the bird but it was too late.

I am the richest kind of poor.