I Can’t

If I can’t write you something deep and show you what is right,

How am I to be there when you fall?

If I can’t speak a work, and keep you up at night,

Should I be writing you at all?


I want to blow your mind.

Or somehow slow down time.

Point a pen in your direction and make you think your brain is mine.


 But I can’t.


 I’m missing that spark, that pop star flare.

That light in the dark to make you stare.

I’m just me.


I’ll never have the look, that award show given face.

Like a plot hole in a book I’m out of place.

I’m just me.


And I can’t.


I want to write a page of history,

Be a chapter all alone.

Your favorite part of this story,

Bring in ratings on my own.


But I won’t.

Because you don’t know who I am.


I’m just me.


And I can’t.


Your arms around my neck,

Your voice in my ear,

Your breath in my hair,

I feel you.

Whisper you love me,

Say you’ll be near,

Tell me you’re mine,

I need you.

(Don’t go. Come back. Why would you leave?)

Don’t open the blinds; delay the sun.

The morning can wait; my heart, undone. 

I’m awake, awake, awake, alone.

I ache, I ache, I ache, come home.

(Please come home.)

Look to the sky, place the note in the bottle.

Clear my head of this mirky water. 

I laugh, You laugh. Cover your blushing face.

Your eyes, my eyes, hide in self disgrace.

I wake up screaming, fallen from bed. 

I’ve only ever been alone, imaginary friend in my head; I’m dead.

I’m awake, awake, awake, alone.

I ache, I ache, I ache, come home.

Look to the sky, put my life in the bottle.

 The brim overflows; bloody water.