A lie
This life, it's all a story
I could be anyone at anytime anywhere.
Nothing I say will matter, and you can never be sure who is writing this.
Rest easy, I don't care, and you probobly don't either.
Your smiles your friends your scars.
You can guess wich are more honest.
So honestly when did it lose meaning? Our words, our lives. When did the fact that I care become a liability?
Just save your breath.
Honestly. Is love ever real? I've been searching for so long and nothing. I get these scars and this fire and these tears with those smiles. It's nothing.
I'm so afraid of what I can't become. Of what I know I'll never be. I'll never be able to write this there. I'll never be able to feel this in any other way shape or form. You know I can. You know I will.
I hate how nothing is a secret. Anything I express is turned to fire and thrown on these bridges. I hate it.
I hate how I wear this on my sleeve. It's broken, and I know I shouldn't be proud, but it's better on my sleeve than on my wrists.
I'd rather wear this on my wrists, on my arms. My chest my face my side. Bruises and cuts show more than drooped eyes and a shallow face. I wish I could wear this on my arms. |