Tommorow Will Be Gone.
Tell me what am supposed to do when they tell me to have hope and faith while in my head am just going through ways that would make my pain go away.
Tell me what I should day when they tell me me to keep praying while am already questioning everything about faith.
What am I supposed to do when am fighting myself trying to convince me that am not crazy.
. Have you tried celebrating someone's birthday and they ain't really there? Have you tried making up memories to see how things might be different if could have done somethings differently ?
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Tell me, is it crazy that I have the exact words of our most of our conversation to hide in just to remind me to keep being sane?
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I mean you all don't know what pain is, you just acting like you all do to just make me feel better.. Make me fake smiles every now and then.
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Y'all don't know the emotions that come with that door slam and you just sit with your head up and tears just do their thing hoping that they are on the other side of the door.
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What am I supposed to do when they tell you " don't cry, it's gonna be fine " , but you know it ain't never going to be the same.
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What reason do I have to not just loose it already.
Who do I have to keep me sane while I keep crying on 'birthdays '
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What do I have to actually wanna be alive anymore. ?.
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I mean even drugs won't work.
My heart's damaged, and I bet even surgery won't fix it.
Crying just feels okay, because I'll end up having migraines and somehow I'll actually get some shut eye. .
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Sometimes I just wish I'd set with the sun, or even better dissaper with the stars to wherever they hide but never show up again.
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I don't even wanna start afresh,
To hell with that bullshit of moving to a new a place and starting all over..
All I know is that I'll still have my broken heart with me..
the very same stupid heart which has decided not to stop beating just yet.
I'll still have my stupid brain, doing the thinking, reciting the memories and giving me breakdowns every now and then.
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Am just hoping they'll ask me to put my hands up over my shoulders and I'll intentionally pocket them so that I can hear that shot whistle through the wind...
And I won't have to see tommorow again.
And tomorrow will be gone.
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© 2019 Amani Utembu