I hate it when you hurt, I dread it if you cry,
But sure I am allowed to care for my tears.
Of course I could let it all go, away to fly.
Ignore it all, the pain, all that my soul sears.
Just tell me if that’s what you want and I’ll let go
But still I wish you wouldn’t claim that I be my own shadow
‘Cause, goodness, how I fear I’d really do it so
And lose myself in the world’s dull and boring meadow.
For higher proof it isn’t that your heart wasn’t for me,
Not for the girl, the human, mortal, that always sins and errs,
But for that glassy-eyed perfection of distorted reality,
That not a semblance to my self could ever hope it bears.
And yet, in my deepest of hearts there is another pain,
Another fear, of myself this time, that I wouldn’t be able
To do it all, forget myself, still both my heart and brain,
And this be proved to be just brag of my soul’s unstable
That I’m not so much of an angel as I claim to be,
Not able to put you before, my happiness aside,
That there’d be one small part to say love’s less than me,
And that all my reproach and sadness is unjustified.
How mean of me, to accuse you for seeing angels in my place,
That are so far from who I am, I know they are. And so do you.
But still I am in this unreal quest, interminable chase
To make a martyr of myself, perfection coming true.
And all this while loving life, admiring what I am,
How can I contradict myself so much, how can I suffer such?
And every time I’m given paper I’m starting to condemn
You, life, myself, who cares, since it doesn’t leave a touch?
But now I realise my one and only disappointment,
The one I hid and tried to keep, so lazy and complacent
With which I always do delay that one final appointment,
But to which I can’t quite help but always be adjacent,
Is, plain and simple, just myself. I’m so not what I could,
And what I sometimes wish I was. I am indeed the vestige.
I badly need infinities of love, for making me feel good,
I’m sorry I chose you. But now I’d die, if you happen me neglige.
Please forgive me. For getting caught in the crossfire
Of the battle with myself. I have only one excuse
For risking ruining your life. But I can’t help admire
The light that ever comes from you, that turns my wounds into a bruise.