You wear and compare, The things I bear. Sorries of none, Pretending to care. Scared to share What you have of me. Critical of others That fail to see. The parts of me I tend to hide, You make them scream Until they die. But i'm your truth, And your my lie. A friend of fake
a flavor lost in water frustration dissolving into apathy does it even matter any more. a comedy of pain would you like to see the discrepancy in timestamps or is it enough to say im ready and would you understand when i tell you with joy i no longer love you or would that contradict these citrus-scented apple slices touched only by two hands and the burning of acidic salt beneath my eyes as if i ever stood a chance