Helping someone, being there for someone, they use you, whether they see it or not. You see it, you know it, you let it happen. Like walking into the knife’s blade, with open arms, heart outstretched.
That would actually save me from this.
From being ripped apart at the seams.
Ripped apart at the seams.
Yet no regret?
Yet all good?
Losing oneself, being ripped apart at the seams.
Seeing one’s own use, being used, feeling empty.
Can’t cope. Can’t cope being ripped apart by the seams.
No one there to hear you,
No hand to pull you from drowning,
Falling down into darkness,
Drowning in the emotion
Falling into submission.
All there is.
Being ripped apart by the seams.
I’d give anything,
To be there,
But it kills me inside.
The emtiness is my only solace.
My only friend.
I am the guilty,
Guilty of life,
Guilty of living
Guilty of helping
Pain ripping through the guilt.
A whirlwind of emotion.
Guilt and sadness and helplessness always peer through,
Like a face you avoid staring in the eye.
A face that knows you in and out.
The escape, where is the escape?
Can’t find the escape.
I need an escape.
An escape from being ripped apart at the seams…