Panicked Optimist

Holding your hand, while you're... sleeping the night away.
When you wake in the morning, who will rise to greet the day?
You can be the pretender, the charmer on a stage.
You can be the defender, trying to take the pain away...
But I can never tell, who'll you'll be when you're sleeping,
there's nothing to signal these secrets you're keeping.
You look almost empty, with none of your meaning.
Not possessed by the passion,
not alive when you're dreaming.
You burn so bright, it's like the candle is out.
You're just breathing gently, your existence in doubt.
For who are you if not your soul?
Who are you if not yourself?
And your heart could never beat this slowly,
You live in manic chaos only.
Sleeping makes you look so lonely,
without all the voices in your head.
Sometimes you go all quiet,
but only when you are dead tired,
and you can't stand your joy at the world.
Sometimes you rage like fire,
every word sparking your ire,
but to fix it you only require kindness.
Your acquire melancholy, absorb the sadness that you see,
and you come to me crying -
"It's not fair the world's this way, no-one seems to be okay. And I'm scared, that my heart will fade. That my dreams will turn to gray... if I stay here."
But I've told you not to think that way, you get caught up in an empathetic haze and you think you're just the same.
But you are real, and you are here, you're passion and all your ideals.
You're not just some cog in their machine.
You're not just, some saint that's built to bleed.
To get you, out of that state.
I promise you-
"Your body is an instrument, and your mind is something pure. You may think the world is sick, but your dreams, they are the cure. And you not giving up on this, you can't. There's so much more to see, such worlds to dance. Just let wonder wash over you, and it will stitch the holes in you, and make you whole."