everything's a diary

but everything is a copy

that means that i am unoriginal

just a big, fat nobody, a xerox

i'm a copy of a copy of a copy...

and i can't reverse the cycle

as if my tears have been shed before

like i was broken before i was whole

will you ponder over me?

i sit in my corner and cry

because i can't find the solution

and i'm dumb because i don't see it

black stains on my pillow

and i've lost hope

hope of getting out

hope of fairy tales and love songs

hope that words are immortal

that i'm someone to notice

for you to notice

shield is battered

but i keep fighting the unseen villan

only to belatedly realize why i fight

my reflection

i can only beat myself up for so long....

before i kill myself