Deal With It

I'm cold, and I can't express my thoughts the way that I want to.

I whine, I whine, I whine.
I fade, I fade, I fade.
I fall into the numbers as they rise.
How can I accept letting go of my life?
I see sunshine, but I am being pulled away.
I sit on the floor in dismay.
How can I do this another day?
It's sick, it's sick.
I make myself sick.
As the clock ticks,
I can only focus on this.
I cannot love you today
if I am this way.
Unconditional love?
It is all I wish to give,
so how can I live
when I am this way,
unable to love, unable to pray?
My prayers are dissolved into insolent pleas:
Please let me be, let me be, let me be...
I see
that I am on the edge, dancing with death,
bordering on the cessation of breath,
but what can I do anymore
when life has become such a bore?
I shudder at every knock on the door.
Every pat on the back,
telling me to relax
feels like a threat,
filling me with regret.
Are these people on to me?
Can they see what I can see?
Oh no, it cannot be.
They cannot tell
that these dizzy spells
tend to serve me well.
Stumbling a mile
brings only a smile
as I strain
to get rid of the gain
that covers my frame
in flesh and in shame.
I whine, I whine, I whine.
I fade, I fade, I fade.