I now know what this is about.
I don't like to talk about it, but I think it would explain a lot of it, so. Yeah, when I started writing it, it was originally supposed to be about someone (in the boyfriend/girlfriend kind of way) that you've forgotten about loving. But it's not. So as you know, nothing turns out the way it was planned, and this is how this turned out.
I just needed someone to tell me how wrong this is. Then, maybe, I'll stop.
But please . . . Please, I don't know. Nevermind.
No, this isn't right, but there's no one to put me back into my place.
This is what is keeping me awake at night.
Did you know I'm not near you when it happens?
Doubt, because of loss.
For miles and miles, I saw thoughts of you burning.
Call 911, because this isn't happening.
Call an ambulance before I see you strangled.
I don't want to forget the person I wrote this about, but it's hard with everything else going on. The last line in this is saying that I don't want to leave him the way I saw him, last.
Lock the doors, another paramedic might just be someone,
Coming to take you away from me.
A paramedic is someone who's always supposed to be there to help. In this case, the Paramedic didn't help. And He certainly took someone away from me. Locking the doors is just saying keep everything the way it is/used to be.
Lock the doors. Keep all of this burning.
This is just a jail cell that's lonely,
Don't forget about this person.
With flat lines as the faintest version I have of you.
Flat lines, not metaphorical.
White hospital sheets could never make us pure, again.
White is supposedly the colour of purity. But who knows. So that whole thing (in its redundancy) is basically saying that nothing is going to clean us, or rinse what happened away.
Lock the doors. See the flames from miles away,
The flames are the flames of the burning memories. And if something's "miles away," it's pretty much intangible. Thus, I can't do anything about this loss of memories.
Because I will be scattered with your ashes.
Cluelessly going somewhere when this hurricane comes.
Remember the scent of these fallen and burning trees,
Because I will be scattered with their ashes.
What happened to the person certainly had an affect on me. And being scattered with someone's ashes, it would be kind of hard to pick yourself back up and put yourself back together. Fallen trees are the person I'm singing to.
So, obviously, this was written for my cousin, Mitchell. The paramedic being God. I decided to post this because . . . I don't know. I guess I was just amazed at the fact that I knew what one of my writings was about.
