The truth you ignore will hurt you only once but the lie you celebrate will haunt you everytime you think about it.
I don’t want to play this game no more
I don’t wanna play it
I don’t want to stay ’round here no more
I don’t wanna stay here
Like rain on a Monday morning
Like pain that just keeps on going on
Look at all the hate they keep on showing
I don’t want to see that
Look at all the stones they keep on throwing
I don’t want to feel that
Like Sun that will keep on burning
I used to be so discerning
And I can hear the choirs keep on singing
Tell me what they’re saying
And I can hear the phone
It keeps on ringing
I don’t want to answer
I know that I used to listen
And I know I’ve become dismissive
In my recovery
I’m a soldier at war
I have broken down walls
Keep song-writing, my recovery.
Therein happens something that hits you hard enough to unfold all your insecurities, makes you feel special about yourself swiftly. Something worth that moment, that place, which you ponder later on to revisit, to rejoice. Something that makes you raise all above the world, ahead to your own paradise. Something that clings very close to your heart, may it be the burden or the ease. Something that fights your lonliness and embraces you fondly. Something that is surreal yet so real at the same time just as when the stars align itself. Somewhere, sometime, something happens and it is everything.
Facebook still says we are Friends. But are we?!
“One last time”, the heart fooled the brain every single time.
It is acceptable to an extent if you are being the plain white canvas authorizing to lime light the dazzling disclosure of various other colors. But design wisely on whom you empower to paint your loving black, a little influence of which dominates the rest.
I wish you were here.