maybe or maybe not

I don't know how to begin, and then sometimes I do. The 'proper' words form but my pretty little tongue can't introduce them properly. It's as though I sense a rejection I don't want. And then I'm lost all over again.
I just desire an acceptance of some sort from one person who I hope can help me when I need it. I want a day in which I can say I enjoyed. I hope for a happiness I won't want to ever give up. I don't want to long for a forever absence.
It's too early for me, but it's also not too late. And then I wonder where my mind has been. Maybe in the gutters, with the rest of all thoughts that are ignored.
It's those stupid, lovely songs that make my tiny heart ache. Then the same old tears flow in the loneliness of the dark, dark room because I have ignored everything when the sun shines. It's that stringing of the violin tugging at me, rocking back and forth like a melancholy cradle with the softest of hands. And I feel so soft for just a moment, and when that moment ends, I want to see blood flow from my own flesh that I have lashed at, for I don't know why anymore. It's just natural to me now, and it's the saddest thing in the world to me. Sadder than all predicaments I face.
The clocks tick with a certainty that time should just fly by and never be looked at again, because as all individuals should know, we can't ever trace back to a moment that changes us. We didn't say goodbye or we weren't awake to yell STOP, and maybe we weren't supposed to. Maybe the long hands know more than we do. But there are so many maybes in the world and I hate the term 'maybe' because it doesn't hold a certainty that I want. I want a certainty that will give me justice in my own heart and mind.
Insomniac, I am, with the dryest of eyes that stare into nothing but space, because that's what I need -- space, from myself and more. Awake as I am, I can't even find who I am, can't even explain in any words because they seem to be lost, like me.
Did the antidepressants make me so anti-depressed that I can't feel? Did he rape me so much that I've lost all words? Did they leave too soon that I really want to leave too? I can't even answer these questions because they have no real answers.
So certain, we feel, but with no complete certainty. We lead ourselves into an unknown that ends at a light or dark tunnel. And of course, we always hope for a light and bright ending that can give more hope than we expect. Forget the maybes, because there is no real answer or certainty. Like I had said from the beginning, I don't know how to begin anymore, and I certainly don't how to finish.1