Beside myself

I think of those long nights,

When I sat in my room alone, beside myself.

Sitting on top of a dusty wooden shelf,

Hiding from a world, that takes too much.

And I am always so eager to give,

A habit of mine, I feel I should quit.

Like a string that’s been frayed,

Unraveling just a little, and then all at once.

I can see the trail behind me,

All the way from here.

Fighting so hard to lose myself in the trinkets and books I keep collecting,

Decorating my shelf, decorating myself;

But it does not stop the dust collecting on us.

There are so many pages, yet to be read.

But words once written haunt me,

I cannot get them out of my head.

I am safer hiding from a world,

I’m convinced wants me dead.

Sitting atop my shelf, another night

With sorrow’s deepening the ever present ache in my chest.

How much more can I take,

Before the last of my thread finally breaks.

Alone, beside myself is where I’ve been safe,

So alone, beside myself is where I will stay.