I think I’m little too jaded by my past. These things that I have moved past still haunt me when I’m not paying attention. Stuck here on these pages I ramble on and keep dumping this torment on you.
I’m sick of being stuck; putting so much effort in for others and not getting anything back. It hurts when you find yourself alone too much, loosing more inch by inch as time passes.
I am tough when I lie to the world around me about my thick skin. I bleed just as easy when no ones looking.
I’ve learned to parade around, bending the truth, displaying this mannequin as my true identity. I can’t remember the last time I was me, no holding back. I look out for others but don’t know how to look out for myself.
Truth is you wouldn’t even recognize me if you met me. My act edited for every detail. Seeing this transpire… a car crash you can’t take your eyes off.
I don’t know what I want, or what can fix this labyrinth I navigate through daily. Stopping stopping to translate this mess. I spill through my fingers to liberate the pressure.