Why must the present leave our midst?
Don't they know that they'll be missed?
Pressing a razor to their wrist,
Ticking off the steps on their suicide list.
Past selves take their easy life,
Leaving me to deal with strife.
Don't they know that I cry out?
Pacing the floors of this empty house?
Humans die all the time,
Expressing pain in writ and rhyme.
A part of us dies every day,
In every sense and every way.
Don't they know I miss their strength?
The hope that I could win wars of any length?
These memories haunt me,
For I can't see the positivity.
The knowledge that I could do the same,
Threatens to drive my mind insane.
Don't you know I feel your pain?
You other husks hiding in the rain?
I see you look at what's not there,
Observing your ghosts with weary stares.
You sit and sigh and wish away,
Begging the spirits not to go astray.
Do you sit and burn away the day? Never knowing what to say?
I'd just like to admit that I don't want to live this way,
rather, sit under the sun and play.
Not looking towards the past or chasing ghosts,
But instead smiling, laughing, living life to the most.
Did you know that they hang onto my every word? Teasing, telling me that I'm absurd?
They say that I could've,
They plead that I should've.
Screaming, these voices in my head,
They tell me I should join the dead.
Y'know they are just spirits, right? The past is nothing but a trick of night.
Yet still, I cry to them for aid,
Begging for the past to show me the way.
Much too tired to look ahead,
My hopes and dreams I will shed.
It's too late for me, but can I help you? Show you where to go, or what to do?
Just let me be your solemn guide,
An answer to the prayers you cried.
Don't give up, just press on,
Through possession I see the sun.
Why do you turn and run? I only want to be the one!
Don't fear the ghosts, we are your past,
Teaching you what it means to come up last.
It's not worth the night of death,
To give up life for fitful rest.