Endings Without Stories
"I watched the smile fade from your face
You bled till there was nothing in your veins"
You bled till there was nothing in your veins"
So, it's always so quiet.
I was always good with secrets. Not today. I'm just so sure they know. I'm just so sure they always knew.
There is no such trust that runs its way so dynamically, not even with myself. I can't even tell myself. Maybe if the truth stays on my bed where I leave it every morning, it won't have to think of me.
I built it this way. Suffice to say that there won't be anything left but the boldness of a cold night that heated through, when denial dissipates and all of the days fall down in front of me like I'd never sinned before. It was never the fault's fault that had me questioning the momentum I'd taken. That we'd taken. Because I know that faults had been set where they display flawed cracks of chances that enveloped no such luck. There is no such luck for the faces that set like mine, where they display flawed cracks of obstructions that revoked themselves once I'd ever committed.
I built it in a way that I can shatter my own barriers. That I can set limits that gave me the opportunity to set it limitless any which way. I do not trust the hands that appoint themselves in initiative to me as if this whole hoax of a life stood a chance. It won't be long, and that's all I need to say to myself to pretend it all just isn't happening.
With all honesty--though honesty left all of us with out a choice but to believe again in this whole hoax of a notion that there is a truth--it isn't happening. The pretense to pretend that it all just isn't happening when all I mean to say is that nothing is happening, and I won't do anything about it.
If they know, then I'll seal myself shut. And perhaps in the near future I can get myself to stab it on paper, though I see it as just a chance to ignite the lighter and set it on fire, watch it burn in front of the dark and behind it is me, watching me not happening, at all.
There is nothing more perplexing than my hopelessness, hopefulness, and the reminder that I have built it in this way that you all know with out really knowing anything. Anything at all.
I'm sorry.
I was always good with secrets. Not today. I'm just so sure they know. I'm just so sure they always knew.
There is no such trust that runs its way so dynamically, not even with myself. I can't even tell myself. Maybe if the truth stays on my bed where I leave it every morning, it won't have to think of me.
I built it this way. Suffice to say that there won't be anything left but the boldness of a cold night that heated through, when denial dissipates and all of the days fall down in front of me like I'd never sinned before. It was never the fault's fault that had me questioning the momentum I'd taken. That we'd taken. Because I know that faults had been set where they display flawed cracks of chances that enveloped no such luck. There is no such luck for the faces that set like mine, where they display flawed cracks of obstructions that revoked themselves once I'd ever committed.
I built it in a way that I can shatter my own barriers. That I can set limits that gave me the opportunity to set it limitless any which way. I do not trust the hands that appoint themselves in initiative to me as if this whole hoax of a life stood a chance. It won't be long, and that's all I need to say to myself to pretend it all just isn't happening.
With all honesty--though honesty left all of us with out a choice but to believe again in this whole hoax of a notion that there is a truth--it isn't happening. The pretense to pretend that it all just isn't happening when all I mean to say is that nothing is happening, and I won't do anything about it.
If they know, then I'll seal myself shut. And perhaps in the near future I can get myself to stab it on paper, though I see it as just a chance to ignite the lighter and set it on fire, watch it burn in front of the dark and behind it is me, watching me not happening, at all.
There is nothing more perplexing than my hopelessness, hopefulness, and the reminder that I have built it in this way that you all know with out really knowing anything. Anything at all.
I'm sorry.
I'm always sorry.
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