Most times, I love the darkness.
Other times, I crave the pain.
I love the feeling of bullets piercing through me
As I stand in the cold rain.
Lying over red-hot coals. Yes, it’s true.
I’d rather feel the erasing burn than acknowledge I am blue.
I fall deeper into despondency every day.
Melancholy, my misery’s best friend, calls.
Daily, repeatedly, I’m at fault.
Always, I’m in the wrong.
So I pay with my joy, my smile, my song.
I lock myself in no-one’s place.
Where my silent screams can never escape.
And then I …
What I do, I cannot say.
Because if I do, I’ll need someone’s help to stay sane.
And I won’t be alone by myself ever again.
But I can’t be myself without the pain.
So I’ll listen to the calls, stand in the rain,
And wait for someone who feels the same.
Someone to share the suffocating pain.
Someone who’ll hug me and make me smile again.
Stand with me even though it brings no gain.
Although there are bullets falling down like the rain,
Make me feel the love again.