1_21Guns
January 16th, 2010, 10:44 PM
Everythings wrong. wrong. wrong.
Nothing about my life can ever be right or normal, it all has to be wrong or strange.
Nothing goes away, nothing ends, no pain, fear, hurt, memories. Its all still there.
Theres still a fake smile on my face, its all make believe, made up in a world inside my head.
I'm different there.
I'm not dead inside there.
Noone tries to make me out to be someone i'm not there.
I don't snap at all my friends there.
I didn't make every stupid mistake I ever made there.
Everythings perfect there.
The little world won't go away, yet its slipping through my fingers, the acts slipping, the mistakes are showing through the haze of lies I created to hide the truth, following me around, haunting me and tormenting me. Reminding me how much of an idiot I am, that i'm not in this perfect world, I don't belong here, I don't belong there, I have no belonging, i'm just nothing.
Everyone tries to get it, some people think they can read me like a book, they get close, but they'll never actually manage it. They'll never see what I really am, see the mess I made of myself. They'll see parts, but never the whole picture.
I could just give up right now. Then theres no fact and fiction to fight between, nothing to fight, nothing to hide, no mistakes, no lies. Because there would be nothing, nothing at all.
Nothing about my life can ever be right or normal, it all has to be wrong or strange.
Nothing goes away, nothing ends, no pain, fear, hurt, memories. Its all still there.
Theres still a fake smile on my face, its all make believe, made up in a world inside my head.
I'm different there.
I'm not dead inside there.
Noone tries to make me out to be someone i'm not there.
I don't snap at all my friends there.
I didn't make every stupid mistake I ever made there.
Everythings perfect there.
The little world won't go away, yet its slipping through my fingers, the acts slipping, the mistakes are showing through the haze of lies I created to hide the truth, following me around, haunting me and tormenting me. Reminding me how much of an idiot I am, that i'm not in this perfect world, I don't belong here, I don't belong there, I have no belonging, i'm just nothing.
Everyone tries to get it, some people think they can read me like a book, they get close, but they'll never actually manage it. They'll never see what I really am, see the mess I made of myself. They'll see parts, but never the whole picture.
I could just give up right now. Then theres no fact and fiction to fight between, nothing to fight, nothing to hide, no mistakes, no lies. Because there would be nothing, nothing at all.