they all want to skip to the epilogue in the stories of our lives
my words are my faith.
i ask you.
if its supposed to be fiction why does it feel so much like the truth? it has come to the point where my perception of them is skewed- they are more me than they are them.
still waiting to wake up. though im not sure from a nightmare of a dream.
publish your inner monologue and make it a best seller.
smother yourself in the glitz. the glamour. until youre too bright to look at, anymore.
words can be bent and broken and rebuilt to feel like hom. they are always hiding beneath my skin. dancing through the currents in my veins. so closely intertwined with my heart and nerves they are hardly seperate.
sometimes i feel full to bursting and maybe it would be okay to run on empty except you dont get anywhere that way.
"have you ever felt drained of everthing that makes you, you?" yah but its not like i ever bother to look hard. a scavenger hunt for the parts to stitch us back up. with injected lips and skin tucked.
x marks the spot for every mistake made by God to be fixed.
like He should even need a spell check.
a vampire and a looking glass.
its unfair though that i should feel so comfortable in his words, like an old skin but in reverse.
more like what i might grow into.
thoughts shouldn't need to be judged before the world to hold weight in your heart but i cant seem to get this through my head and its not even purging or catharsis or whatever you might want to call it.
its a need for validation.
no i'd have to say its more a need for attention.
"silly boy you're just dying to be tragic"
hearts learn to ache in fierce ways. its so hard to keep going once you've been kicked when you're down. sometimes i feel sick thinking about all the ways ive messed up. but sometimes its like i took a wrong exit on the way to my 3x4 desk job in a smoke-soaked city and ended up in Paradise and i'm sure i'd be first to say i was going to be late for work.
"sorry for calling in late but in this moment i just need to convince myself that i am not so alone"
teach me how to control this steel monster in my ivory cage. id like to ask it a question or two but it always seems like i get the answering machine.
i mean if either way you're expecting bad news why should it really matter if you get there and its empty.
except maybe its fear cuz if i felt how i think you would i probably would keep my mouth shut too.
-xo
take in the laughter, "carpe diem"
i ask you.
if its supposed to be fiction why does it feel so much like the truth? it has come to the point where my perception of them is skewed- they are more me than they are them.
still waiting to wake up. though im not sure from a nightmare of a dream.
publish your inner monologue and make it a best seller.
smother yourself in the glitz. the glamour. until youre too bright to look at, anymore.
words can be bent and broken and rebuilt to feel like hom. they are always hiding beneath my skin. dancing through the currents in my veins. so closely intertwined with my heart and nerves they are hardly seperate.
sometimes i feel full to bursting and maybe it would be okay to run on empty except you dont get anywhere that way.
"have you ever felt drained of everthing that makes you, you?" yah but its not like i ever bother to look hard. a scavenger hunt for the parts to stitch us back up. with injected lips and skin tucked.
x marks the spot for every mistake made by God to be fixed.
like He should even need a spell check.
a vampire and a looking glass.
its unfair though that i should feel so comfortable in his words, like an old skin but in reverse.
more like what i might grow into.
thoughts shouldn't need to be judged before the world to hold weight in your heart but i cant seem to get this through my head and its not even purging or catharsis or whatever you might want to call it.
its a need for validation.
no i'd have to say its more a need for attention.
"silly boy you're just dying to be tragic"
hearts learn to ache in fierce ways. its so hard to keep going once you've been kicked when you're down. sometimes i feel sick thinking about all the ways ive messed up. but sometimes its like i took a wrong exit on the way to my 3x4 desk job in a smoke-soaked city and ended up in Paradise and i'm sure i'd be first to say i was going to be late for work.
"sorry for calling in late but in this moment i just need to convince myself that i am not so alone"
teach me how to control this steel monster in my ivory cage. id like to ask it a question or two but it always seems like i get the answering machine.
i mean if either way you're expecting bad news why should it really matter if you get there and its empty.
except maybe its fear cuz if i felt how i think you would i probably would keep my mouth shut too.
-xo
take in the laughter, "carpe diem"