Empty Streets

I'd like to hit rewind and skip back to the beginning
before i gave any chance to believing
that you'd see me in a crowd
that to you, my voice would never seem drowned out.
every time spent with you feels like glass shards
shoe laces
barbed wire
butterflies
suffocating me from the inside
and still I'm hooked...
hooked on the chance
an opportunity
fleeting as it is
that i'm not just another number
another wave that's crashing
another notch, another line to cross off your ever growing list
of things
to do today.
but as another day dawns
another sun sets
and i revert back to the start again
that sinking feeling
that subsides in an instant when you smile at me
and digs in its heels and claws and talons and teeth
when you walk away.
it's never been so hard to find something to say
but with you everything's a flat line, dead give-away
i can't hold a glance, no lingering touch
misconstrued
and overcome with delusions
of a sick, twisted fantasy
sold to me by disney
(tm) (c) (rights reserved)
whatever.
nothing lasts forever
unless it hurts
then it stings a life time and repeats itself
in an downward sliding spiral
towards my own degrading thoughts
of self hatred
and self mistreated
violence unadulterated.
the score i keep is filled with names
of people
that don't believe in me
so how can i believe?
there's no proof,
no scientific discovery
no literary meaning
to divulge in.
I'd like to fast forward
past the hopelessness
past the waiting
past the dictionary definitions of self hating
and race to the finish where i'll have there waiting
an answer to the questions
that i've always been asking.