Short Stories

unfinished

I'm not poetic,
But when the time comes I let the paper sing.
I'm strong till I allow myself to fall,
Sometimes falling is better then standing tall.
When I think I'm to shattered to recover,
I pick up the pieces and throw them away because if they broke off are they really that important to hold onto?
I'm not good with words,
But sometimes...are words really necessary? Or will they find a way to be said anyway?
I am quiet,
I think that may be boring to others. Yet when I do it's always over spoken to interject.
It's hard to get out of bed,
For any reason it's just hard. Hard to wake up. Hard to muster the energy to drag my empty form to the ground and get ready. But it happens, there might just be that chance of something good that day...even something small as a hello..
I often wonder,
How I know the people I do. How they even decided that one day they were to just say hello to the distant, quiet one who hardly showed any expression to anything offered expect for the possible snarky 5 word reply.
I often wonder,
If sleep is just a mockery of death. You close your eyes. You feel nothing. See, hear, touch nothing, except for the occasional vision of some made up situation or wandering memory. But sometimes you just float, in that odd darkness that seems to just hold you long enough till you awake. Till one day you just don't...and you wouldn't even notice.
I often think id be happier alone,
But I know I wouldn't. No ones happy alone. Hours to yourself can help but days alone hurt more then just your heart.
And by the end of the day,
I'm still as I had been from the moment I woke up.