It's Complicated

It's complicated... when you're this sad. When you're this alone. It's complicated to tie you're own shoes when you're this sad.. this alone. It's hard to see in the darkness of you're own poedic, tragic, thoughts. They bubble up blacking out the star map of my mind. It's complicated to be involed with someone you love and yet you love someone else the same way... the same portion of you're heart you're willing to give up to them. But you can't take both. It gets so long; the days. It gets so short; my breath. It gets so bleak; my days. It is cold; the tile floor I lay my head on. And hard. Resting on a stone blanket of ice, rolling over to hear the dumb hum of the naked kitchen bulb. Now all I do is watch it swing back and forth, most days. Also I count my miserable exsistance on the kitchen floor. Every drop from the rusty faucet into the skin means another tear drop on the tile floor. I love you, can't you see that? Can't you feel that? It's complicated.. when you're this sad. "What's wrong?" I heard someone ask, looking down at me. "It's compleicated."