We are all artist. Painting pretty pictures In our minds. We paint pretty pictures of men Only to watch them be destroyed. With lies Betrayal Hurt. We paint pretty pictures of friends Till we take the knives out of our backs to slash at the person the painting who physically or verbally slashed at us. We paint pretty pictures of ourselves. Hoping other people will see The flawless painting, Not the skin Bones Blood Heart All breakable, All fragile All flawed. And how After all those years Are you supposed to tell the difference Between Truth and lie Pleasure and pain Love and hate When we live with it Do we become frightened Feel alone in the world ‘love’ for no reason Ignore it. Or fight back Live a lie Live that lie And love in it Is that possible at all? To live a lie and still love It scares me I feel so close It scares me I feel a need to be loved It scares me that I’ve never Ever Felt this way before It scares me This love I am mortally terrified Terrified to loose Terrified to be broken Terrified to be proven right. I am petrified So wounded by the previous I have a phobia for the present And a dread for the future. I am mortified by this And why… All because I might not be the only one. crying
Spiced Vanilla · Mon Jan 26, 2009 @ 02:17am · 0 Comments |