They won't let me sleep. All day long, I can work them into exhaustion, but they will not relent. They don't sleep, and when they're loud, I join them.
I shout, do you not hear me scream? No one can hear me scream when my mouth is held shut with twenty-six stitches of regret: one for every year. You doubt me, I can tell. I don't bear false witness to you, but you still doubt. I don't live with you, near you, or like you; how can I expect you to understand?
The open-armed kindness of my friendship and the drowning man of my love work at odds. If you approach, the drowning man will grab you and take us both down. If you sit back, mindful of your own safety, you'll watch me drown with my open arms empty. Nobody wants to hurt me, but that's all they can do, unless they choose to watch. To you all, the best answer for my struggle is just to turn your backs and walk away. It's unreasonable for me to ask you to approach, and it's too painful for you to watch. Slowly, surely, you will all depart. It starts by asking of me things beyond my control. Because I can't meet those conditions, you feel as if I don't try or don't care. I try to tell you that my life is all effort and sympathy, but all that ever seems to come through are my open arms, and my steady submersion into the Sea of Dreams. I'm too heavy, too helpful, and most certainly too kind. It would be easier for you if I just lashed out, and gave you reason to abrogate any attachment to me. However, even I know my love is my most deadly weapon, and my verses are its herald: a herald so loud that I cannot sleep in between the peals of torment that mark my passage down.
Read me, know me, and the pain of my solitude will just prove me right.