And the seasons change like the color of my eyes, like your love for me falters everyday.
I don't even know if you were honest in the first place,
but the nights grow longer, shortening the words left at the tip of my tongue.
They were all useless from the start, now that it's killing time.
My beginning was made in the sands of time,with paper doll parents because the real ones were never together that I can remember.
I was made defective from the start, when I let her toss me aside,as if I never existed, but I was always spending time with another troubled family
much like my own.
With my mom I was beautiful, because I always belonged to someone.
But it's different now, I'm not the crying little girl staring up at the sky singing, "Yellow" by Coldplay...
I'm the ranter,I'm the lover, who never was taught how to let go
until I let go of my mother's touch for so long
and forced to really love dad, not daddy. I never was comfortable enough to call him that.
I'm the laughter in your head because everything is too funny these days, even my own existence.
I'm of course the poet, who forgets how to express the main idea and digresses way too much. What is the main idea? I'm not even sure yet, or sure if I am supposed to know. They say the truth can kill.
I'm the dreamer, no longer of unicorns with wings or of my faithful imaginary friends.
I'm dreaming of burning the ends and tying the frayed strings to this mess together.
I dream of spontaneous combustion and defeating all the hate you gave to me, except that's just not happening.
Publish my end,
the reason the story began only becomes meaningful when it's over.
My story, of chasing after you and all that you are.
Who are you?