purgatory
You told me to try and write happy poems
So it would therefore be wrong of me
To not make such an attempt
I give you this
As I figure out how to write "happy":
Without you, I would be dead,
This much I am certain of
Some days I feel dead
But I wake up for you, and push forward
Just as you tell me each day
Rarely do I feel alive anymore
It's like purgatory
I deal with my past sins and my current predicament
And wait to see if I get to step foot in Heaven
Despite all I've done
I guess I'm happy
At least, when I'm with you
But my well-being, my happiness, hinges on yours
And lately I'm pensive, my brain overclocks
Overclocks, overclocks, and then it stops—
I think I think too much
About how much you struggle
And the words that get driven into you
Like knives, like nails
Don’t listen to them
They're turned so they ache more
And I can only hope that I,
With everything that my heart and head
And body can offer,
Can begin to make repairs