I told him That i’m not okay,
But now how will I tell if the love is still there?
If it’s still real and pure and clear like the sky in the summer time?
Where this puzzle of a mind will search and seek and never believe the words of a man after he’s seen all my slips and falls and, how my soul is so lost.
The heys and how are yous will never seem real without even the value of a doubt.
How will I know that it’s not just for the sake of it?
Maybe they need an «I tried » , « I asked » , « i did all I could »,
so they never have to blame themselves for the blood I’ve shed?
I guess I should scroll back to the loops of lies we used to discuss because my shell cannot afford another downfall.
I relapsed…
Relapsed to that state of mind where black and grey is all I can see and white is a luxury.
Where I choose to believe the lies I tell because, I can picture the colors in them and, they are so vivid and clear.
Where the smiles are perfectly curved without a spark of a crack; !SMACK! that bandage on top of that wound.
With the voices that scream: “keep it yourself hun, don’t be fooled..
You’ve healed before, You will heal again."
_.Blackzilia._
