Music, Frankly

Just finished studying, I'm dropping dead any second, can't type or anything! I'm yawning and should really sleep, but I'm too worked up. I could maybe finally take time to put up some new pics at Facebook but I'm too tired to go get the camera... I just feel like... listening to music. Like listening to Frank. There, that's better.
Honestly, relax my dear, it's clear that we are done...
Half of me wants to rage and roar, the other half wants to sleep, and somewhere in between those halves and up, there's a third part of me that is crying. Well to be honest I'm being that third part this moment. I don't know, it's a mixture of everything lately, that I'm crazy tired, that my head feels crammed full of information and of other people's secrets, that I haven't had any space to breathe for the last week... a mixture of everything.
What's the point in making vows, that you're never going to keep?
La, la la, la...
I love Frank Turner.
You made it clear you never cared, you never did pretend...
Everything is making me so tired. I keep doing it, that thing you once told me I did too much, I took everyone's problems on my shoulders, trying to carry it for them, subconsciously. I keep wondering, I keep doubting, I keep being suspicious; I regain my naivete to lose it right away once I got it back. I don't want to be this person, lingering in the dark, and yet I'm here again, and I'm letting out, I'm letting it all run out of me, to run down my cheeks.
What am I to do? It's obvious to me, but she never seems to see.
And I've started to be angry, I'm angry at everyone, I want to yell at the people around me, I feel sad and left out even though I'm always let in. I feel like something has come from nowhere and speared me through, piercing my heart, and now it's bleeding.
It's bleeding in tears.
It's not about the days when everything has turned out right.
No, it's more about the moments when she calls me in the night.
To make her cups of tea and wash the weary worries from her head,
and draw the pain out slowly as I put her into bed.
And I slip this information
Into all our conversations
But she never seems to listen
She never seems to see.
Frank <3
POET in the BLEEDING JAR