Stuck between being and not being, hell and earth.
Why do they see right through me, ignoring me, forgetting. It's all the same, all over again. And again and again...
People told me they saw me when I was alive, people, person, Cecily. But I don't think she did. Did she?
It scares me, if people do see me, what makes them think I'm beneath them. Easily crunched beneath their heels, all too easily forgotten.
I wish that I could cry, fall upon my knees and find a way to lie as if it's ok. Even heroes have a right to bleed, to dream. Guess that fits then, I don't bleed, I'm not a hero, Angel's made that quite clear.
And as I don't even sleep, don't dream, I don't even get to hold her then.
Oh yeah it's all right, you can all sleep safe tonight. I'm not crazy, I'm afraid to fly, I'm not that naive to believe that there's angels to pick me up when I fall. That they're looking for special things inside of me.
I'm only a man, in a phony coat. It's not easy being me, believing...
She did, or was she just molleycoddling me, saying a line to shut me up?
She called me a champion. Was it a lie to set me up, to get me to die for her, for him. Was I just a replacement for her saint Angel, again?
Did she see me?
And if she did, did she see the rotten core that everyone else seems to see. But no, she came to me, she held me and drew a hallelujah from my lips even as she merely touched me. One touch, one word, stay, please... And I was sold; bought lock stock and barrel. A second hand bit of merchandise easily thrown in the fire.
I'm not a hero, not like him.
Not an Angelus, not an Angel, not alive, death, to all of them.
If she knew, would she come? Would she help, it's not a cry you can hear at night or day. Not a life worth saving.
Notice me, please.
Even if you...