|
I'll throw it out the window everytime I start to feel comfortable again, I just can't seem to let anyone in. A few weeks, at best, is where you'll find me leaving you by the wayside. I don't mean to, I don't want to, I just have to
Think free again, like when my choice to love didn't have a chain around it's neck pulling it to and fro and everywhere I don't want it to go (I want to feel fine again). I really hate myself for this, I just want to be over this.
And if I try to start loving again, I back out and tear the skin from my mouth due to the nervousness that pours out on me like a sickening, cynical cycle. It washes over me a thousand times and just won't cleanse me, it just leaves me clouded. I'm so done with being trapped here.
Think free again, like when my choice to love didn't have a chain around it's neck pulling it to and fro and everywhere I don't want it to go (I want to feel fine again). I really hate myself for this, I just want to be over this.
I'm so done with being trapped here, I don't hate you, I just hate me. I'm sorry, but I just can't trust myself.
|
|
If your heart was as big as your ego, than maybe you'd care a bit more about the ones that got you where you are instead of spitting on and belittling their names while you wear out your so called faith. Even after all this time, if I still see your face, I know you haven't changed, and I think Jesus would like to talk to you about all that grace that you proclaim to have laced around your heart, yet abuse religiously.
Your words are all planned out (and all your friends are, too), you've got them around your finger and bending backwards. And on your way back down to hell the devil will greet you, and all the ones you lied about, well, they'll be sleeping easy.
With every year that passes by, it's just another moment closer to when your past will finally catch up to you.
I heard you whisper from a distance, all your words are twisted, you're full of shit and all you do is talk, but never listen, and burning bridges is the only thing you do persistent, you make me sick and penicillin won't reverse the symptoms. You hypocritical, cynical individual, I'll belittle you 'til you're brittle and become minuscule. Make your life miserable, fuck it, I'll just get rid of you and won't nobody miss or think of you, you're fucking pitiful.
|