Cold night and sweaty hands are my dreams.
Thinking of ways to make the rain pour, and the sun to shine.
Not knowing if this would be the last time.
Standing in the middle looking up above wonder why it will not rain.
Why must I stay in dry and grow with the dirt.
All I want is to be drench and no want to help me.
I do not want to be me.
I do not want to be in a place that I cannot see.
I need to find something.
I just do not know what that could be.
Today I did something that do not like to do.
I thought of you.
By doing it let me know that you are gone.
There is no one to tell my stories to.
No one there to wipe my tears as they fall from the river behind my eyes.
My talks will now go unanswered
There will be no new memories to be made.
All the ones that I have will soon fade.
No new stories to tell.
This is a chapter in the book that I must keep writing.
The words just do not flow as they used to.
Now I just talk to the wind in hopes that you are listening.
Drowning in pain, and not knowing where to go.
Soaking in the dirt without any love.
Trying to go on, but the pain is keeping you still.
Will you get up or will you stay?
The mind and the heart do not agree.
Sick is the word that you refuse to say.
Not being able to move is becoming unbearable.
Yet you still have a smile on your face, as if there is nothing wrong.
You are convincing that this is not real.
This is a fantasy that only lives in the dreams of real.
Nobody sees the struggle; nobody sees the pain.
They only see you which is all you wanted.
I just cannot be the moon that grows trees.
The light that shows the animals the way.
The day has come for me to walk, and I just want to run.
I know this is not correct, but there is nothing else.
The tress no longer bring fruit.
The stars no longer make me sing.
This is the only way this could be.
You will never know the struggle of me.
The list is long, and the pen has run out of ink.
The road is calling me, and this time I am going to take that train.