i don't want to be the filler if the void is solely yours. i don't want to be your glass of single malt whiskey hidden in the bottom drawer. i don't want to be a bandage if the wound is not mine. i don't want to be adored for what i merely represent to you. i don't want to be your babysitter, you're a very big boy now. i don't want to be your mother, i didn't carry you in my womb for nine months. i don't want to be the sweeper of the egg shells that you walk upon and i don't want to be your other half, i believe that one and one make two. i don't want to be your food or the light from the fridge on your face at midnight. i don't want to be the glue that holds your pieces together. i don't want to be your idol, see this pedestal is high and i'm afraid of heights. i don't want to be lived through. i don't want to live on someday when my motto is last week. i don't want to be responsible for your fractured heart and it's wounded beat. i don't want to be a substitute for the smoke you've been inhaling. what do you thank me, what do you thank me for? visiting hours are nine to five and if i show up at ten past six well i already know that you'd find some way to sneak me in.