I left you the signs,
The clues you need,
To find out what's going on.
When you ask me how my day went,
What am I supposed to say?
Sure, it's fine, ma,
I love you lots,
My life is just fine and perfect.
Is that what you want to hear?
Or do you hear my response at all?
We’ve gone past the stage,
Of sharing and caring,
To the point,
Of standard dialogue.
You ask me a question,
I give you an answer
We both know is not true.
So the next time you ask me,
If I had a good sleep,
Should I tell you the nightmares I dream up?
Should I tell you how I toss and turn on the bed,
Trying to clear my mind of the truth?
Should I tell you how my day really went,
With failures and lies all around?
How this life I live,
How this life is a lie?
And how nothing can stop me from taking it?
Or should I go the easy way,
And let you ignore the signs,
The notes I write to myself,
For you.
I write so much,
All the time,
Have you ever seen me without pen in hand?
Did you ever once wonder
The sayings on my paper,
The sayings I think up myself.
The cruel realizations
From this lie we all live,
The life I want to end.
Now I understand
How they can be selfish,
And end their lives no matter what.
I leave the signs,
The notes,
The poems,
The stories,
And now I’m being more direct.
I’m not talking,
But oh how I’m writing,
Writing dozens of pages,
All about me.
How my thoughts haunt me,
And how I’m afraid I might not make it to 21.
I may not make it to 15.
Does this give you enough?
To understand me?
I seriously doubt it does.
Because I’m always explaining the thoughts in my head.
And my true friends know what I mean.
But some don't understand,
They tell me,
Kathryn, I’m trying to understand,
But I don't.
Why do you act like this?
Explain it again,
Maybe I’ll get it then.
But they don't understand,
And neither do you.
You made a replica of me when I was gone.
A paper Kathryn,
Who causes no trouble
And she sure as hell doesn't want to die.
She sits with her book,
Reading quietly.
This Kathryn is mute,
And comes free of problems,
A paper Kathryn,
Who you want desperately back.
Because what is there to understand about paper?
You ask where she is,
This inner child,
Whose problems consist of lost playdoh.
And I tell you the signs,
The clues,
My reasoning,
I tell you all in words,
And now it's time for the paper to talk.
Paper won't break down and stop talking.
Paper tells what you wrote,
So now I’m writing the ultimate poem,
To tell you all,
Although I doubt you'll get me.
I’ll leave it for you,
With your name on the front,
Bold, so you can't possibly miss it.
I’ll leave for a day,
And when I come back,
You’ll finally understand,
Or at least that is my hope.
I won't want to talk,
The paper does for me,
This notebook filled with my pain, my pen,
This is all what I thought,
For god knows how long,
And I don't want to explain,
Sometimes I’m crying,
And other times I yell,
But the message should always be clear,
I’m not happy here,
This prison you call 'home',
This 'heaven' that you set up for us here.
Don’t worry anymore,
Nothing can be done,
And I’m stupid to expect your understanding,
I’ll be lucky if I don't
Get dragged off somewhere,
Where they can 'help' me.
O joy.
So this is the beginning
Of the end for you,
Or at least that's how I see it.
So read well,
And carefully,
Because this does not come with a documentary.
And I won't spare you at all.
