I should be working on a project, but unfortunately it hasn't been going so well.
I should be writing or reading, drawing or sleeping. But I don't have any idea where to start. I'm just all bunched up inside my own little heart. Getting lost between the cracks, taking all the back roads to nowhere without any idea how to get home.
I should be living outside these four little walls, praying at night instead of at dawn. But I don't know what to ask for, what to live for. I should have told you I loved you yesterday. I was too afraid, afraid you'd take it the wrong way. And throw me away once you got tired of all my broken thoughts lighting up like the lines against the blacktop.
I should be running or flying far away, until all that's left of the past is an empty today. I should be hoping and fighting, even just crying, at least trying to stay awake. But everything is slipping, sliding, and falling right out of my head and though my hands. In the end, when the dust settles, and the room goes silent, all I have left is sand.
I should be waiting, waiting for the bruises around my wrists to disappear. I should be healing all the scars left behind by the words he used to deal. But I haven't built up the strength to stand out here all alone. With my arms out stretched and heart exposed pleading with you to hear me. Come with me, stay with me, please don't leave me. Please.
I don't know what I should do anymore. Should I start breathing? Or should I keep bleeding out on the floor? The bandages are in the cabinet, next to your emergency sewing kit. But I can't remember how to walk towards the door, and through this house without you in it. I should be asking for forgiveness, for making such a mess. Shouldn't I?
I should have been more.
