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