Monday, September 5, 2011

Holding Cell

Stop saying that you’re nearly dead
Don’t say you’ve given in
Stop hammering me with endless reams of 
“Oh, what could have been.”
Don’t ask me to recount 
the many lovely times we’ve seen,
as if those times are long since past
and now our slate’s wiped clean

Stop weeping that you want to die
Don’t speak of lying down
I understand frustration
but remove the thorny crown
There’s only so much I can take
before I walk away
I’ve got no one to share this weight
I can not even pray

My mother gave her soul to me
my father did as well
my brother kept his soul inside
a sedentary hell
I’ve seen a life of misery
wrap blades around my heart
There’s only so much blood I’ll spill
before I’ll break apart

You know I’m not your savior
and you’ve seen I’m not your stone
To have you live your life again
I’d give up all we own
but to help you I must know that you are 
in this game first hand;
not a sieve through which my words pour
like a thousand grains of sand.

Stop saying you don’t want to die
but death is coming soon
Don’t say you can’t recover
as I can’t bring you the moon
What life is left, let’s live it
or we’ll fritter it away
and I’ve already spent more
than my heart knows I can pay

Stop saying that you’re nearly dead

Please. 
God. 
Stop.

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