This daily grind is wearing to the bone:
My wheels are spinning while I run in place.
How many times do I have to be told
to guard my heart from growing hard and cold,
and bite my tongue or find myself alone?
I’m blowing out hot air in empty space.
My mind’s a mess; I’m orbiting in space.
Just floating out there, chilling to the bone;
I’m going nowhere, feeling all alone.
Quite unprepared to dress for such a place,
I bundle up. “This world is very cold
and ruthless in its ways,” so I’ve been told.
So many times I wish I would have told
you how I feel about this stale airspace.
Then instead of leaving me out in the cold,
now and again you’d throw me a small bone
to satisfy me in this stagnant place,
you’d be with me. Yet here I am alone.
I have this fear of being all alone;
It’s bottled up with other things untold.
Trying to fit in, I’m out of place:
just like the odd stone in a herringbone
design; it’s cut to fit into the space,
and then once changed, emotions are acold.
You break my heart with cutting words so cold.
They break me down. Can’t you leave me alone?
How can you say these things? I have a bone
to pick with you; and once you have been told
my thoughts, my mind and heart will have the space
to fill the new uncluttered, empty place…
Can’t love take over bitter’s prior place?
Let freedom rule by purging all the cold
and dying things once hidden in that space.
“Life’s too short to go it all alone.”
These words of wisdom often I’ve been told,
but living by them takes more than backbone.
Within this space, I know my place:
I’ll bruise the bone; I’ll bear the cold.
I’m not alone is what I’m told.
