A page marked with lines, waiting to be filled
With the words of a liar who tries to be true
Who wants the world to see everything he builds
And when they fall apart, he wants it there then too
His world on a page, and his heart on a sleeve
He wants them to see everything that brings a tear to his eye
And, conversely, to his face a smile that won't leave
All the thoughts in his head that eat away from the inside
And they flow through his fingers to the ink in his pen
Confessions of love, hate and innocence; guilt
For regrets when he kept his mind closed and not open
Let his heart become tainted and allowed it to wilt
Does his world become clearer the more that he writes?
Is every secret he spills a weight off his mind?
Is it just a release when he can't sleep at nights?
For unwanted desires he can't leave behind?
If you could look into his eyes, then you could see his soul
However blackened and tortured and bruised it may be
He prefers it to being nothing more than a blank, empty hole
Because he knows that it's what makes him me.
