It has no walls.
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I feel like rain fall. Somber, silent, and composed of a million different pieces falling in sync. The gray day. The big puddles that need rain boots to undo their perfection. Some day you live under a moon so full. Other days you lie on your back watching the stars pass you by...
Did you know, I wanted to tell you everything?
Would you believe me if I said I wanted to start from the top of the tallest skyscraper and shout out the truth until it was just you and me in the city and I could tell you my life story.
The real one.
But that was so long ago and, that moment, lost once, will never come again.
I may be smart and brave and hell, I may, at times, even be beautiful -- but I'm the first in line when it comes to running from the past. I'm the first to put my tee-shirt on so you can't see my scars.
I wish I could scream how goddam angry I am about everything that happened in the last two weeks and tell everyone why it hurts so bad. For some reason, I was expecting this to be my renaissance. My great rebirth.
But the skeletons stayed in the closet even after all this moving and now their saggy corpses quietly decompose stinking up the rest of the house.
It's strange.
I'm not an angry person.
But the thoughts that are trying to tip-toe out of this type are making me want to pick my laptop up and throw it at the floor and watch it explode like the time bomb ticking inside me.
[so that's how this feels.]
The truth doesn't set you free; it just lets everyone else see the chains you are wearing.
Did you know, I wanted to tell you everything?
Would you believe me if I said I wanted to start from the top of the tallest skyscraper and shout out the truth until it was just you and me in the city and I could tell you my life story.
The real one.
But that was so long ago and, that moment, lost once, will never come again.
I may be smart and brave and hell, I may, at times, even be beautiful -- but I'm the first in line when it comes to running from the past. I'm the first to put my tee-shirt on so you can't see my scars.
I wish I could scream how goddam angry I am about everything that happened in the last two weeks and tell everyone why it hurts so bad. For some reason, I was expecting this to be my renaissance. My great rebirth.
But the skeletons stayed in the closet even after all this moving and now their saggy corpses quietly decompose stinking up the rest of the house.
It's strange.
I'm not an angry person.
But the thoughts that are trying to tip-toe out of this type are making me want to pick my laptop up and throw it at the floor and watch it explode like the time bomb ticking inside me.
[so that's how this feels.]
The truth doesn't set you free; it just lets everyone else see the chains you are wearing.
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