I worry about you.
I worry how you wake up.
Is your head in your hands?
Do you drive out to the beach just to feel something?
Feel the sun on your back, let it burn a little.
Beads of sweat slowly trace your spine and I worry.
I worry you feel pulled apart, stretched towards something new yet tied to something old.
I worry this tug of war darkens your spirit, shadows your soul.
You have great things; a beautiful mind, a want for good, a soft kiss.
I say you're nice to me, but I worry if you're nice to yourself.
Are there bruises on your heart?
I worry if I'll be the one to help them heal.
There are no answers at the bottom of bottles, there are no answers beyond these small screens.
I'd say the answers lie beneath those bruises, lets try to find them, and worry a little less.