It’s hard to talk about someone I hardly know. I just want to go back to the same things I always go back to.
I’m to the point of disbelief that I even question what I see, second guessing what’s right in front of me.
I can look at my best friends, and I can see the hope, the strength, it’s real. Leaving me wondering when all that died in me.
The same passion is there, but it’s in an opposite vein. I tried to feel that optimism, but who the fuck am I kidding?
I’ve lost so much fucking time to all the lingering, too busy hiding from the man I’m becoming.
Can’t bear this fucking weight, it’s much too heavy to take.
I don’t know what’s heavier, the cloud in my head or the weight on my shoulders.
I don’t see shit in myself, but if you say you see something, I fucking swear I’ll keep trying. I’ll fucking try ’til I’m dying.
That’s why I cover all my skin, ’cause I’m not happy with the person within.
I use the ink to remind me that forever exists.