Heaven Help

I'm sick of the 'cry yourself to sleep' nights.
The tossing and turning.
Shouldn't I just be happy with what I am?
I feel like part of me is missing.
Songs make sense.
My brain wraps and twist and pulls at every verse.
I'm sick of 'picking it apart.'
I hate this emptiness.
Is it echoing in here?
I'm sick of searching.
Hermits live inside, alone.
It's safe in here.
No one can ever hurt you.
Nothing interests me.
I make my own choices.
I make my own mistakes.
People really do die of broken hearts.
I've felt it.
I'm sick of it.