Same Thing, Different Melody

A new house isn't so bad. It's the loneliness that hurts. i shouldn't be lonely. I have everything. Well, almost everything. more than I deserve, that's for sure. but I feel a familiar feeling that my mind always comes back to;
Like a Ghost.
I wonder how I'll feel when I'm actually a ghost. Will I feel alive? Or just the same. I feel unseen and unwanted. Lost, forgotten. I know I'm not. But my heart must not understand. It still breaks so easily. It's no one's fault but my own. It's a life I've chosen. I could change it if I found a way, but I'm not looking for a way out. I just sit. And watch the shadows on the wall. Watch the world around me spin and freely frolic the world. But I do not a think to get my feet off the ground. Why? When that's really all I want.
I want to fly away. A ghost can fly, can't they?
I can't keep pretending. So here it is;
I'm lost. I'm gone.
I'm just a ghost.

I do dream. I just never go after it. Stop dreaming, start doing.

The Waiting Room

It's silent, almost dead. Empty and hollow. Seems like I've been here for a million years, stuck in a repeat of waiting. It's always waiting for bad news. I never wait for the good to fly it's way to my ears. I tend to leave it behind. I've been here, in this same room before. Waiting on you. Waiting for your voice, but the difference this time;
It stays silent.
Should I still wait? What if you come out and I'm not here? What if you're waiting for me? All this time, as I sit in this small blue chair, listening to the sirens like a music box, winding up every few minutes to play again. Yet it seems silent.
I wanted to save you from the dark, but you would never give to me your hand to follow. I brought the sun to you once, but you turned away to play with the moonlight. As beautiful as the moon can be, it's loneliness in it's true form. Too slow to play with the stars, shut out of all the games, all the laughs. But you refused to leave.
I'd give up this life to see you smile just once. You used to. All the time. And it was beautiful. But now it's just....
A waiting game.
The doctor comes in now and again to tell me it's fine. But I won't believe it until I see you; hear you again. You've been so quiet for so long, it's almost deadly. I just want to hear your laugh.

I've spent a lot of time in the waiting room of a hospital. Each time, it's not like I'm waiting for bad news. Because I know that's what I'll get. So I always watch the walls, watch the people around me, listen to their stories. And wait for you. Someday, I know, I won't be waiting anymore. Either you, or I, will no longer be coming back from that back room.
Why can't I just enjoy the light instead of waiting for the darkness? My walk has slowed, my eyes grow dim. And I am forever left
Waiting.
For you to bring back the brightness in my eyes, or for the storm to take it all away for good.
Just...
Waiting.

The Color Red

I'll paint you a new shade. The color red. Sheer and mislead. The color of the hopeless dreamer, ruler of the imagination. It'll let the others know, just who you really are. Where they can find your heart. In a world of wild fantasies, of a place much like this, only opposite.

I watch you mend your heart, at the beginning of each new start. I watch it bleed from your hands every time you've broken it again. I see the sparkle of the tears that race against your cheek, warm and full of all the things you hate. Yet still, you refuse to walk away.
I admire that about you. You still think there's a reason for this life, a blue sky behind all the clouds, all the rain. And even with nothing but shame, you can always find a reason to love. A reason to get up, dust your wings off and fly again. For what?
No one really understands. Including you. You have no idea, and it's starting to show. Your laugh is softer, your eyes, more dull then before. You're starting t sink and the rope is getting weak. Still, you're holding on to your failed romantics and dreams of long-lasting love, as you're heart drains, losing all it's blood. Weak and weary, you sit alone, refuse to speak. And in the mirror I stay watching, wishing you could see. That you're getting faded, long faced and jaded. And as I watch the diamonds appear for one last time, reflecting in your eyes, I wait to see if you'll pick up the pieces one
last
time.
Pick yourself up, Doctor, you've got work to do.
It's not time to retire; It's time to Inspire.