The Bathroom Floor

I'm the typical type
of pitiful person
that would do
anything for
anyone at
anytime

just say any word
and not only have I heard you
loud and clear
but I've responded
with an open heart
and an experienced ear
and I'm here

but to an extent
the attempt
is relentless

the resentment ascends
while appreciation declines
and I've helped the whole world
with their problems

but what about mine?

I've paid my dues and it's due time
that support shows its face

with every hour I've bowed out
and thrown in the towel
and I've done it with grace

I'm not supposed to ask for help
I'm not supposed to let this shit
get the best of me

because it's me after all
and after all's said and done
I've battled my problems alone
and they've won

every fucking time...

so consumed with compassion
and no patience, no way
to change this
no words to properly express
to you that I just
don't give a shit anymore

to tell the truth, and truth be told
I'm more a bore than I am bold
disgrace and desire are the razor-wire
that's wrapped around my heart
entrapped in a no-win situation

you cannot touch it...
and it can only swell so much before it bleeds dry...

but dry your eyes, and cry not for me
I'm tough, I can take it
I'm strong, I can make it

I'm your idol, your hero
your "ten points to zero"

...and despite what I say
...no matter how sick and fucking tired I am
of wasting my time on you
and allowing my problems and issues
to gather like spent and used tissues
joining me where I usually wind up: on the bathroom floor
and no matter how many times I say I can't take anymore...

I'll still be here.

Because that's who I am.

And my problems can wait.

Forever.