I want more than anything to show you the words, both pleasant and cruel that your smiling heart has stamped into my mind, but I feel like a fool.
These words, which are only shared when my fingers feel stronger than my will, can show you everything that helps me get by, besides those awful pills.
If I one day find that my fears have subsided,  I'll discover a way to lead, opposed to being guided. If I lead I may find myself in a place of lingering conflict where I'll notice your intent, actions and the difference.
I like you better when you show me your heart, your idea of yourself shelters who you really are. Hopes high as mountains to obtain the reality, you've brainwashed yourself with a certain brutality.
Climb to the top, you feel the success. Now that you've made it, please take off my dress.

Finding little specks of black nail polish in her mouth,
she realized she had bad habits when she was nervous.
She spends most of her time getting high or watching ****—
which she soon realized was a deadly combination.
She's yet to find a genre of music which she feels fits her mood
when she feels anxious, hopeful, carefree and empty all at once,
forming another deadly combination. She can't seem to shake it.
Even more important, she's yet to find another soul which she feels compliments her vertically swinging inspirations.
Triggering thoughts of long car rides, classics, and guilty pleasures get her by if reflections of the past are found loitering rent-free among her highest expectations of becoming and the songs she can't stop humming.