Tomorrow won't be any different,
I'll still hide behind a smile.
You'll tell everyone I'm not feeling well,
Which, yes, is true.
But when those tears begin to spill,
Drowning a broken smile in its wake.
You'll convince people its just stress.

Cringing behind that door, I'm desperate
For someone, anyone, to come knocking.
You'll answer it and reassure them that
We don't want a Sunday paper.
Those screams and calls echo,
Through this body and I know.
They weren't here for me, no one is.
I could only hear, see,
And feel the pain you cause.

(I want)

Echo 7/17/11

© 2011 by knownkonvict

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