I’m made of bones and blood,
and those bones,
unbroken and holding me up,
is proof of my survival.
And though there is emptiness and fear hiding inside,
put together with the will to keep going,
I know I am stronger than ever.
And there is salt in my blood
from the days where tears infiltrated
into the valleys I built to hide in.
But the oxygen inside each blood cell
is proof that I’m still breathing.
I’m alive. I’m alive!
And I’m trying my best not to forget that.

two months and the pain hasn't lessened,
buried in the scars is some kind of lesson-
people tend to change,
and love sometimes fades,
so far, love hasn't made a great impression.

i could see in your eyes, you wouldn't let her go,
you had touched every part of her-at the time i didn't know.
two and a half years, and this was the end of the show,
two and a half years, we finally let go.

my mind wants to hate you, but my conscious wishes you well,
some days i get along fine and other days feel like hell-
only time can erase the pain,
only ignorance can make me sane,
all the same, such a story with no one to tell.

until you, my dear, took the time to listen to my plight,
stood by my side and comforted me in my biggest fight.
and now your heartbeat gently soothes me to sleep at night,
two and a half years, and happiness has never felt so right.

There are songs about love
And songs about it's loss.
A wise man once said
“Music is there for when words fail us.”
When our emotions clash and rage and burn
Or simply flutter about
In Beautiful Chaos.

But what to do with doubt?
There are no songs about lacking.
Stepping each step, knowing that irrationality
Hides in every corner.
You are worried for yourself.
You ask yourself "Will I?"
You ask yourself "Why Not?"
You ask yourself all,
But answer none.

Our minds are funny that way.
We can have full knowledge that we worry
About things that are pointless.
Things so unlikely that the morbid hilarity of our consideration
Of the possibilities of such things
Should be enough to stop us from believing them.

There are songs about love,
And songs about it's loss.
A wise man once said
“Music is there for when words fail us.”
But I lack burning emotions.
And thus I lack music.
And naught but words remain.

There are songs about love,
And songs about it's loss.
But there are no songs of
The worry of
Never finding it.