Pages

Thursday, March 3, 2011

3 Am Graveyard Sleepless.

By Hillary Ivie

It's not your job to save me. Then whose is it instead? I Look at the clock Its 3 am. Cry. Then Go to bed.

It's not your job to save me. I can save myself you know, I can smile and laugh. Can you put on that kind of show?

It's not your job to save me. I pay the bills my own. Not a single dime borrowed. I fake that yours is my home.

It's not your job to save me. I've lived there once before, I'm not afraid to go back, I'll leave tonight by four.

It's not your job to save me. I run most every night I do that so the pretties won't see, The dark keeps me out of sight

It's not your job to save me. To sit and stitch up my wrist, I didn't mean to do it but, I had to, or make a fist.

It's not your job to save me. So get off your mighty horse My life isn't your play ground, Nor is it a crash course.

It's not your job to save me. You've done your share of good, But my life you've made it harder, To know exactly if I could.

It's not your job to save me. Nor is it his, or hers. I'll be fine don't worry, Least not till the herse.

It's not your job to save me. You wouldn't if I asked. You want me to forget and forget, Everything of our past.

It's not your job to save me. Even though I need it now, I want to scream "HELP ME", But I can't, I don't know how.

It's not your job to save me. So whose is it instead? It's 3 in the morning, Why can't I go to bed?

No comments:

Post a Comment