We Are A (wanna be) Lost Art

by, Cassandra

You know, right now I’d give anything to be anything other then what I am. Anyone other then who I am. Anywhere other then where I am. Because, you know, nothing happens here anyway.

Living is a lost art.
Caring is a dead language.
We are a lost cause.
Hope is dead, left bleeding on the floor.

But words… now words flow endlessly, dripping slowly from our lips and, baby, they cut deeper then any knife ever could. I leave a trail of bloody words everywhere I go. But it doesn’t change a thing.

Fear is taking over.
Time is flying by.
Life as we know it...
well, it’s buried six feet under.

We say we want to make a change, but we never get up to see it through. I say I need to make things move, but I’m always standing still. Maybe the Earth and Wind themselves will take pity and shake us until we break.

Love is swept under the rug.
Hate is put on display.
We are all to blame
for this rust decay.

We did this to ourselves, because we just could not let it go. We had to hold. We had to own. We just had to know what was never meant for us to know… and now we wish we’d never known. It’s changed us all.

We were never a work of art.
We were never meant to be.
We did this to ourselves.
But we just can’t bear the blame.

Such a shame.