What about what I want?

I think people get upset at night in the comforts of their own bed, when memories have a living presence and memories split raw. Everyone's fine just fine in the day but at night in all the cribs living hell breaks loose and burns alive. How many nights have we coaxed ourselves into thinking things will be fine? But things are a cycle, things run and run and repeat themselves. Everyone has problems and everything just seems to add to the fire when things turn ugly.
Things have the power of reminder, from time to time, time and again. Imprints never wash clean. Marks are left. We feel, we learn, we grow up. But there is no limit, there is no end. Mindless jargon play in our brains and they seem like hieroglyphs on pauperises, which not even time can decipher. Miracles do happen, but magic is shrouded normality and normality does nothing. There is nowhere to go but through, yet Nowhere is all we have left to go. When will we learn, when will we learn to keep dear things close and let the unimportant things go?

How many hearts will die tonight?

Was I out of line?
Did I say something way too honest made you run and hide, like a scared little boy?

When I was younger I saw,
my daddy cry, and curse at the wind.