I walk into walls like he stares at the ceiling.
His eyes never cry. Those eyes tell it all.
His walls so thick, so sturdy.
He knows that he can lie.
He’s beautiful for what he is but always runs and hides.
So I walk into walls, like he stares at the ceiling.
He speaks the words I can’t define,
But now he holds them in his head.
Those late night conversations, I tried to understand.
Bit my lips, and choked on words I never meant to say.
He doesn’t seem to feel, and I just can’t let go.
His problems start to intertwine, and have become my own.
I soon would then cry twice, for what he did not show.
I’m walking into walls, (and he doesn’t seem to notice.)
There are always reasons why
In till-morning conversations, I saw the truths of him.
His eyes blue frost, and spoke tactless words,
still staring at the ceiling.
Listening I stumbled, over painful words.
He spoke of maybe marrying her but, wants those one-night-stands.
He wants to drink in bars with sluts, and
a way around the questions.
He wants the things that I can't give,
I guess I'm just not needed.
He told me of those people,
who broke before him in tears,
and left his sympathy frozen cold. (is that why you don't care?)
So I'd grip my hands and tried,
to perfect my tainted smile.......
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