Split Sides

If Dreams Were Real

I don't what I'm here for.

I've lost my purpose.

I was broken long before I was brought here.

Life has been awful,

And I'm littered with mistakes.

No good past to speak of,

No good future to look to.

Just living in the here and now.

I dream too much,

I worry too much,

I care so little of the things around me.

I'm full of faults,

I don't know where I'll end up,

And I'm living in the discontent of the present.

That said, I don't know how you found me,

I don't know what you plan to do to me,

But all I want is to be with you now.

You and me.

Just two lonely, damaged individuals

In appalling circumstances,

Making a home

Out of our hollow shells.

Creating a heart

With nothing more than

Cracked glass and glue.

To hope that this would mean something more

Than just a quiet fantasy

To help us sleep at night.

Have I told you that sometimes,

I don't like dreams?

Dreams, they're a funny concept.

They're so vast and colorful,

But they're also just dreams.

Have I told you of the things I think of

When insomnia grips me,

Or a bad memory,

And I yearn for you to hold me and keep me safe?

I wish I could give you an old shoe box

Full of pictures and illustrations

To represent all the thoughts I had of you.

Everything, from the cheesy and romantic

To the austere and ethereal.

From our own to those from your friends.

Things, like that time we slept in your convertible

Because we wanted the stars and comets

To say goodnight to us.

Or that time you became my brown-eyed angel

With those bleeding lips and that fierce smile,

After beating up those robbers who tried to nick us.

I thought of that time I ruined it

When you tried to kiss me in that house of mirrors

And I backed off because I was scared.

I'll never forget that time you cried

Because that bastard came back

And I held your hands and hugged you so tightly,

Even if we slept in that massively tight bathtub.

But if there's one thing I'll treasure,

It's us on the sofa, in the middle of a nighttime power cut.

I was in your arms, and I was telling you

That sometimes I get misty-eyed when I think of you,

Or even when I write about you.

I don't know how,

But I would think of you and my eyes get wet,

And I had to pause just to let it out.

And when you told me to tell you more,

I told you how ironic it was

That it was my belief in you

And my utter fascination in you

That helped me to stand with you,

Despite my hatred of religion

And the mysteries we both have of each other.

I wish these dreams were real.

But if that turns out to not be the case,

At least I'll know

Somewhere out there

I meant something for someone.