It’s time to quiet the poet’s dying heart again
time to kill her quietly weeping soul.
There’s no room for her in this time
no room for her in this place.
She wants to mourn, she wants someone to love
she wants to lie awake at night and dream.
But there is no one here but me to listen to her
and I have taken all that I can hear.
She only makes me sad and I can’t bear it
another day, another sleepless night.
Another day where tears won’t stop rolling down my face
I have to tell the poet’s soul goodbye.
She’s too much for me, too needy and fragile
she’s more than anyone has time to hear.
She sings her songs deep into the night
and weaves herself into the fabric’s thread.
I know she hurts, I know she cries
trust me, she is all that I can feel.
But I’ve given all of me that I can give her
and I see how everyone else feels the same.
She is lonely and broken and sad and she quietly sits alone
soon I will pass her by as well.
Like the many passing faces who can’t understand her need
who don’t even look at her anymore as they walk by.
I don’t want to be her but she was supposedly the best part
of me and I had to let her go.
She paints beautiful pictures of words on pages
but she lives them as well and that is too much to know.