...how often do I simply try to get by..
And when was the last time I appreciated the pain
Or his laugh
Is life really composed from magazines
God, lets not be silly
I take and I take
I’m the sort
Who hates myself
When I pass too many red leaves
Without picking one up
I’m not scared
To trip on shoe laces
I just don’t want them to get dirty
And the breath on the cold glass
Made me twist inside
My lips still remain
Pressed invisibly in that shade
I’d chew on my smile
For the sake of saving a pen
And I wish I’d smell more flowers
And try to laugh a little harder
And be unafraid to be myself.