The weather outside may look peachy keen,
but inside my soul has been set aflame
by the lightning of the storm that deals out rain
in waterfalls that flow into the river of my veins.
My weak heart.
Oh my weak heart that’s worn out from constant pain.
I suppose I do get weary.
I get weary of the advice from others thinking they can save me from the ache,
thinking that lectures they read somewhere will guide me in the right direction.
They don’t know.
They don’t know that this is familiar territory and I’ve walked this neighborhood time and time again.
They think they know from text, but I already know from experience,
and man do I get weary.
But I’ll smile that smile, nod that nod and laugh that laugh to keep it all down.
I’ll keep it down until it drowns in that river
Or until it burns out into ashes of black and silver.