Cold.
I can't seem to think,
it's in the very least,
terrifying...
People dangle me out on their little
strings
and I, the ever-loving fool,
believe.
Can't you see to let me hope is as good as
giving me the noose?
Every disappointment,
every stutter,
I blame all on you.
I just want to lay back and cry,
but I hate the feeling in my throat,
and I hate to have these uncontrolable thoughts,
memories of everyone, of everything,
crowding into my fake happiniess,
my laughter that exists within every day-
Even if it's fake, it's enough
to get me through.
You can see that, can't you?
It's like being drunk on the bathroom floor
in someone else's house,
concious of how rude it would be to leave a mess,
but only wishing to just lie down and say
screw it all.
Fumbling with a towel and a toothbrush
to make it all clean,
and telling them to get the hell out,
to leave.
It's not like they could understand why the tears come,
they are just looking for something from me,
and I'm not in the mood to satisfy.
I think I should drop these delusions of love,
for if I can't let anyone in,
how could I ever dream to be good enough?
Walking through the hallways of a school
of ghosts,
walking through all these people and leaving
them behind.
Telling myself everyday that they will be mere
shadows
tomorrow, and they are not destined to be in my life,
for they are not great enough to remain.
You know, maybe I want you to look at me and
ask me if I need help,
that's why I hate people that cling to a diagnosis
of crazy
and pop all their pretty little pills,
because to be truly crazy is to walk through life
accepting that
you have already failed...
~I have only two goals in life... to change, and to die. The latter satisfies both dreams.
