I'm Sorry (Sorry for Everything)

I'm sorry, more sorry then you'll ever know.
I'm sorry for everything,  I hope you know how sincere I am.
When I breathe, guilt punches me in the stomach, it cripples me.
Often, I lie on my back broken, I stare at the ceiling
and think of all the wrong I've caused—it breaks me.
My hands are scarred with the guilt I can't share with you,
I want you to know why I am the way I am—I've never really told you.
I'm not as neophobic as you may think.  Obsessive? Compulsive?  Of course,
but I'm not afraid of change.  As you can tell, I've always been different,
and right there, that's the start of my demise—my self-disdain.
I don't know how to talk to you; I've never learned.  I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for the way I talk and the way I present myself.
Guilt keeps me awake at night, it lets tears fall down my face—my cheeks;
I want you to know I'm aware of how wrong I am. I'm metacognitive
when I am around you.  It lets me be silent, even when I don't want to be.
I'm sorry for the way I act, it's not who I am; it's a mask.
It keeps you from getting to know me—I guess there's nothing wrong with that
but I wish you knew me.  My guilt controls me, I want to leave you be.
You're running through my mind and I don't know how to forget that.
You would think sleep would bring the best of me—yet—I always dream.
Those are the worst moments, the ones where I'm asleep.
In my dreams, I know how to talk to you—then I awake—without you.
I arise from my bed confused, and with reality twisted.  I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I dream—the guilt is eating away at me.
I'm sorry for everything,  I hope you know how sincere I am.
I'm sorry, more sorry then you'll ever know.
I want you to take my words to heart—know how sincere I am.