A letter for my Song Bird
There’s nothing left to do and there is nothing left to say.
There’s nothing I can prove but the hopeless decay.
There is simply no more reasons to survive the day, and if I had my way, it would be done today.
You haven’t the slightest what I have gone through.
You only have a taste of the things I could do.
The smile on your face made me double take, Times two.
Your voice melted a heart I didn’t know was so blue.
I have no faith and it’s something very important to you.
I lost the face I use to wear in order to fool you, too.
I wish the best for you and everyone else.
I missed the best of you when I fucked up myself.
I hate to say that I felt something I thought I would never feel again.
A beating heart, and with every pump, the pain was starting to end.
But as I’ve always done, self sabotage won, and now I sit in the dark.
It hasn’t just begun, it’s been this way for awhile and I don’t know where to start.
If I end it, you would mourn for a week or two.
After those 14 days of pointless tears and dismay, you would forget who I was to you.
I’m done. I’m exhausted. I’m tired to the core.
I’m fat, ugly, hopeless and poor. And there’s a bunch more that I really adore but I couldn’t show how I felt without striking a chord.
I’m sorry, Song Bird, the last song is for her.
The fat lady is ready.