these whispers, they are far too loud for me

this is a poem thing that i wrote a while back. i don't have this problem any more, but some of my friends do. dik i'm kind of proud of it, i don't usually write poetry and when i do, it's a pitiful pitiful thing.
enjoy.


always confused and holding this cold like it belongs to me,
this sadness diffused across the stretched-out, worn-out, 
altogether-too-tired membrane of my soul. Tape me back together
like you did before, pick up the glassy shards and mold me into more
be that which i knew so well not long ago, those silly summery smiles 
those secrets like lover-promises that seemed to fade 
as soon as they were made. I know it's my battle,
this chill stealing across my broken will - if I can stand strong maybe 
I will prove myself to the hopeless. Am I to weak to fight? 
Am I doing this right? If there's a light at the end of this tunnel, I can't see it - 
should i have done something? if you need me for anything, i can't be it. 

Not now not now not now. 
Not ever.
Not, at least, without your help. Doubt is such an ugly word. 

am i? am i really that bad? I thought i was such an innocent.
Well. not really. 
But I thought I was a little better than the rest, a bit more special, a bit the best 
but now I have this off my chest it's obvious i'm nothing less than a child of yours 
and a failure. I messed up so bad this time, it's embarrassing

shield the young one's eyes 
and pretend not to look as the crazy lady carves up her stomach again 

just to watch the blood come out. 
Just to make sure she still has one thing she can control. 
just ignore ignore ignore, because that's what you all do best. And you know it.

My lord, this isn't what I expected when you said 
you had so very much in store for me. I was expecting joy and excitement 

and victory, not these silent, rainy, lamp-my-only-light afternoons 

with voices waging battle against this stretched-out, beat-up, 

blood-stained frame you've put me in. 

Save me once again.
i know you will. and i can wait.