. . . . . .

I can never seem to untangle what I feel from what really matters.

My legs are sore from running.
My head is throbbing from thinking.
My eyes are swollen from last night’s tearful mess.

My mind is scattered from everyone else’s thoughts and problems and dilemmas that I’ve had to put mine on hold.
This doesn’t directly involve me, but I feel that it certainly does.
I am in the middle of you both.

While you two turn to me for help, who will I turn to?
My friendship with her has been faltered immensely.
And he couldn’t possibly understand or know what to say.

What should truly matter to me anyways?
And better yet, how the fuck am I supposed to feel?
How can I be expected to save anyone when I can’t even seem to save myself?

The only comfort I can find is within this glass.
The taste becomes irritable after a while, but still, it does help.
I’ll be in my bed, thinking of my Valyermo speech, hugging my pillow.

I am sure things won’t be the same for a while.




-mkp