Limbo

Apparently I have a very good life
and I guess I wouldn't dispute that
but I can't say the same for my self and my soul
and my mind and my heart and my head
Because my days are filled with little things
No big disasters, just tiny misfortunes
That wear away at my mood and my mind
and make me lose my place in time

they're the reason I don't get out of bed
and the reason for the headache spiraling through my head
the letters with words that look flat and dead
but at least I have a chest under my bed

That gives me hope and strength

There's nothing in it that would save the day
and nothing to keep me warm on cold winter nights
Nothing to make me feel any more at home
But pictures of you and strands of your hair
and pieces of clothing that still barely smell of you
They keep part of my heart out of the hurt
and back in the past when we would lie awake all night
and look at the patterns of light on the ceiling, and pretend they meant something
And only we knew what they meant

Silent voices and quiet silences
and the sound of our fingertips telling each other we love the other

The little things still get me down; you always said I was bad at dealing
And the world in general keeps me from healing
But that doesn't mean I can't live with hurt
Memories of us keep it from getting worse