it bleeds in your brain
and on bedroom sheets
all the letters of words
of secrets you couldn't keep
buried deep in all the lies
and stories you'd tell to hide
away yourself but they all
come out in the end
they all come out.
and like dandelion seeds
in autumn, pieces of you flutter away
in all the boys you meet and you keep
telling them things about yourself,
cutting them out from your inside
to hand them back out, until one day
you knew you would be empty again.
addicted to the things that hurt
because its an easy thing to feel
and you need things these days
that remind you you're real and
not just a walking corpse with a face
of a girl and a name people call you by.
in a fit of redemption from your collectomanic
days, you decided to give everything you stole
away, but there were so many little jewls and
gems you couldn't remember which, and like that, this
time you want to set right every lie you ever said
but there are so many you're scared there will
be nothing left.
Maybe its true maybe there is no excuse
maybe I just do the things I do and say the things
I say because of the way I am and theres not
really much good in me, afterall.
but I have to have hope
I have to believe that once I get rid of every little
bug of sin and places I shouldn't have been that have
clung onto my insides then I will be free
and all that will be left is the real me.
the soul of the girl I used to believe in, before
she became to hard too see.
I've become too hard to see.