Too cold to be warmed?

Sat down to be told that my eyes are too cold,
Yet I see the story as being so old
That it's started to mould, me into something new
From within which once grew,
Some clues to the truth,
That I still feel down, here amidst the refuse
As naught more than splinters,
Or fragmentary remains,
Something to call stable.
Like a shattered glass never cleaned,
It's still just the same
yet broken to pieces, and left in it's place
So I call that safe, perhaps even sane
Till I catch this tired flesh
On a jagged edge
And whistle as I bleed once again.
Fingers twitch, voice changes pitch
Ignorant to my deceptions,
I appear as I see fit to fit amidst society's misfits
As the one who escaped all of it
Yet really I just sit to think;
Perhaps a drink will settle me down,
Perhaps I'll drink till I'm settled and down,
Perhaps I'll drink till I've settled to drown,
Perhaps a drink will wash away this town.
Freedom, the ruse of hope which persists
To build me up with all that I missed
And say “better luck next time”
Or “well this isn't it”,
When reality checks say “so, maybe it is”.
The sentence I heard from one who offers change;
“You don't act like you're desperate so people are unwilling to help”
Basically, we'll give you a treat once you've laid down and whelped.
Like a dog must I sit to wait,
Till someone with authority says it's ok,
So long as I submit all evidence,
Of any worth in my life have being stripped,
And they can tell me it's unfair
Then get mad when it seems like they care more than me.
As if I've resigned myself to accept,
That there's almost no hope of seeing what's next,
Better yet, as if I carry my hex in hope for a curse
With no notion that it could still get worse.
What lessons were learned? None which were taught
In classes of asses who wait to abort a report which says they done well
With what's kept to myself being half of these people seemingly can't even spell
Yet somehow they all rose where I obviously fell.
Emotionally stunted yet not seen as if fronted,
And when confronted I always offer some comfort
For a sharp mind is what they call mine,
So shouldn't it makes sense if my feelings are blunted;
An excuse which provides more problems than aid.
So people can say you're too hard to explain,
Must be something “special” about your brain,
You should be analysed and tested
Is that just a nice way to say that at times I come across as insane,
Besides read my books,
I examine myself everyday.
It would be an easier job if I was getting paid,
Can't even afford to be sat on a couch
Waiting to be told it's ok, to not be ok.
Still frustration brings the revelation; I haven't much to say
Perhaps we'll dig for the roots?
But I'm trying to climb up the tree,
You want me sifting back through the mud?
Shouldn't I be admiring the leaves?
You offer a well so I can wish for a spring?
With the credibility of confidentiality being wrapped up in plastic
And stowed on a shelf? For all who come across it to delve?
Being asked if life has me overwhelmed
When it's the exact opposite,
Everything seems too distinct, very little to call different
Waiting for lines to be blurred so they can stray out for me
instead of looking for the cracks in this existence,
Those few little fumbles that lead to a stumble
Which might just make me tumble some beats from my chest.
And all I do is think,
Barely sleeping I just rest,
Perhaps I need a drink,
Sobriety now proves tiring at best,
At least I feel stressed.