♥
You write such pretty words, but life's no story book.
I like to feel the burn of the audience's eyes when I'm whispering all my darkest secrets into the microphone
And me I'm in my bedroom drawing in my notebook because my hand thinks
I'm an artist but my heart knows I'm a poet It's just words they mean
so little to me.
I've got no plans and too much time,
I feel too restless to unwind
Just then my knees give under me, my head feels weak and suddenly
it's clear to see it's not them, but me, who's lost my self identity.
I am happy just because I've found out I am really no one
♥
My name is Crayola. I have no friends, I dislike my family, and people generally piss me off. My only reason for living anymore is my art. Drawing, writing, music, all of that.
Please don't talk to me. I bite.
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