Center of the Symphony

That's someone else's work, 

I'm using to make me sad;

That's someone else's flower, 

I'm making up stories of creation; 

Crying brings out the breakdown of the shell,

Someone else's work helps to chip it away;

There's someone else's work,

Inside of me;

But that someone else's work,

With its shell now broken;

Exists as its own work, stand alone,

Crying at its own confusion;

The shell protects it,

From the deep and dark realities;

Our loved ones lost,

Our friends gone, memories decayed;

The person behind pushing forward,

The person out front holding the shield;

It's that fragile man in the middle,

That's ready to break;

So I'll use someone else's work, 

To find a story and develop a temporary new shell; 

Life is meant to be lived together, 

But the truth is that a wretched, isolated soul;

Is seated at the center of the symphony,

Never letting the orchestra come to a close.