The days of my tomorrows are just passing me by, one day at a time, and I still sit and cry. For the loneliness begins in my heart, but still ends up at a deadend street, at the very start. So I must run faster in this endless marathon, and where I end up depends upon the history I've begun. You're catching up with me now in this race within an unparralleled universe, and I'm out of breath, but your hand is reaching out toward my curse. I may be stifled by the lack of oxygen in the air, so I stop dead in my tracks, turning to you, yet unprepared. Not knowing what to expect, for the distance I seek is miles away, toward my unholy goal. But, uncomfortably, I settle for an undeserved breath of fresh air into my soul. I blame myself for all the chances I've been given, for so many times I have shunned the kindness that's been driven. I bleed red for my desperate wish to escape into another dimension. It's all I wish for sometimes, to releive this potent tension. It seems I have been given a choice to either pay, or stubbornly refuse to humble myself and actually stay. So I wither into a dying flower, who has become dehydrated, thirsty for beauty, and the discovery that I am truly hated. Please don't try to convince me that I am worthless; I may stumble with my eyes wide-open, but I am nevertheless, your one and only forever, never another to just write-off. So don't reject me, with my faults and all, and my constant bitter cough; for I am very sick, and I even confuse my own self. Please remember it's not your fault either, that I have been placed upon this shelf. This shelf I remain upon does not rest, nor sleep. It displays the wonder and disturbances of my naked soul, and the seeds I will reap. Don't forget me, not another day, though I am unable to forget to remember, and the words I say, but I'll bleed through; another dying ember. Whenever, everything else around me is left to lie in the dark, I have been cast aside, beaten down by my bleeding thoughts, as I remain stark. I am forever an ember glowing into the night upon the heart of this black coal, and that which is glowing is the little pieces of me, of all of what's left of my undying soul.