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sometimes its the thought of things becoming better.
But what does that even mean?
I feel as though the skin I’m underneath is itching to be purified and saved.
and these thoughts they don’t stop,
they swarm in my head like infested bees hungry for honey.
But they do not understand they will find nothing in this soul of mine?
Music is the warmth around me.
Because no one else understands,
and I’m sometimes afraid, I don’t even understand.
and my once warm eyes,
are now traded in for darkness.
I fade in the background in real life,
but in my head stand out like cold hard rain in a warm dry dessert.
And these shallow people who survive in my presence,
they make me sick.
And I can do nothing about it.
Because my voice no longer has the strength anymore,
to battle these clever remarks.