I'm starting at before,
and now for sake of grief.
I'm lying to myself
and playing make-believe.
Pretending what we were
was more than what is was.
And though i may embelilish it
it matters not, because...
The painting's still the same
no matter how you frame it
The object's what it is
no matter what you name it.
And history stands firm
i cannot re-arrange it.
The past will stay the same
and i can never change it.
I'm staring at our end,
back to when we finished it.
I lie about the pain,
hoping to diminish it.
Pretending that it hurts
a lot less than it does,
and though i minimize it
it matters not, because...
The paintings still the same
no matter how i frame it.
The object's what it is
no matter what i name it.
And history stands firm
i cannot re-arrange it.
The past will stay the same
and i can never change it.
And time will come and go
with no way to re-gain it.
The past is still the past
however i explain it.
Pretend it's something else
and try so hard to forget it.
But the past is still the same,
and i can never change it.
