they see the rips and tears
the dark days and years
the grey cloud over my head
the awful thoughts in the pillow on my bed
they know something isn't right
that i'm ten percent words, and ninety percent fright
they see the empty pill bottle in my trash can
they don't want to be a repair man
they look into my eyes and they know i'm gone
that my time here is running out, that i can't push on
i'm leaving this place soon
maybe late may or early june
they see the purple bags under my eyes
the sleepless nights, and 3:00am cries
they know the things i've said to myself
the tragic stories i have on my bookshelf
they see the seams are breaking
that every once of my mind is aching
it's too late for me to be saved
they understand the path i've paved
i know why they don't love me
i understand why we can't be
i'm broken
and people don't want broken things
