It's funny how easily,
The lies slip,
From my lips,
'Are you okay, Nicola?',
Of course,
I tell them all,
(Except for him, of course),
Lies, lies, lies,
It's obvious I'm dying,
But it's for their own good,
Love trumps morals,
If they knew...
It would all be over,
Just not in the way,
I want it to be

If I could paint the world,
One colour,
It would be,
Grey,
Neither black, nor white,
Neutral,
Soft,
Warm,
It's true,
It's not a 'real' colour,
But it's far more forgiving

I wonder how,
I could have trusted in God,
For so long,
Spent so many hours,
No, wasted them,
Praying so fervently,
Idolising thin air,
Believing faith,
Would provide comfort,
But instead, it left me,
Hopeless and broken,
Because miracles are mythical,
Tireless prayer and devotion,
Won't turn back time,
Or heal wounds and ease troubled minds,
So why do I still wear,
This crusifix?