Your Symphaty (27 Days)

Sitting in this chair,
I watch you read and twirl your hair as if you know how much it hurts me every time.
You bring me soup and crooked smiles,
but always with advice why I should find a brighter side or bluer sky.

And when you walk away, I don't forgive you for the fault.
And if you sit and stay, it makes me angry when you talk.
I've still got 27 days and zero patience here to be your sympathy.

Our extended family, the cousins that I barely see,
send cards to wish me better days ahead.
And all of this attention, though I know they've good intentions,
leaves a bitter taste of metal in my head.
So if you want to help me, then just watch from where you are.
Don't tell me I'll be fine. Don't tell your friends you think I'm stronger than I am.

I've still got 27 days until I'm free from your sympathy.

And when I look in the mirror, I see a stranger staring me down.
A woman in armor,
I can't fight any harder when the room spins 'round and 'round and 'round.

And when you walk away,
I don't forgive you for the fault.
And if you sit and stay, it makes me angry when you talk.
I've still got 27 days and zero patience here to be your sympathy.
Your sympathy.

Clock says 3 am.
I wonder if I'll ever sleep again or dream...