What good does it do?

Because you don't want help,
everyone is willing to help.
The moment you ask for a hand,
all the hands will retreat.
They will call you needy.
They will call you selfish.

I only want to help you.
Is it such a crime?
To want to help you.
You were friend,
when did I become foe?

I miss you.
Why can't I help you?
Why do you shut down, and refuse to speak?
You say, leave me alone.
Well, give me a chance.
I can't leave you alone when you won't even speak.

I'm worried.
You're my everything.
It pains me to see such a horrid monster inside you.
I am nothing to you though.
Nothing but a stone in the gravel.

Nothing more to you than I am to the world.
You are my world, and I am your pebble.

I'm sorry.
But I miss you.
How can you throw me away so easily?

Hmmm...
I'm so tired.
I'm sick with worry though.
So many things in the world to fear.
Too many for my little head to even understand them all.
They haunt me.
I worry about you.
But what good does it do?

I have asked that now twice today.
I asked you, and you said not a word. You left.
I guess it's my fault.
I knew you didn't want to talk.
But I tried anyways.

It's just I'm worried..

Hmmm. Goodnight.
Sleep well, friend and foe.
I love you, whoever you are.