You're sitting in front of me;
Making your slurping sounds and rubbing your beard.
I ask you to say it again.
You don't because you know it'll bother me.
Are we having fun yet?
I know you're at the bottom.
You say you're that way everyday;
You say that I wouldn't know anything about it.
You wouldn't know how wrong you are.
Are we having fun yet?
Hug me but I don't want you to let go.
Secretly, I have that running through my head too.
When you wish someone knew of all your ghosts and all the time you feel you waste;
And even when you make accomplishments, you know they aren't good enough;
Are we having fun yet?
Grab me and toss me on the sofa;
Rub your cheek, knowing one day I will for the tears will be to much to hold back.
Kiss tender lips with a heavy sigh.
If only time could stay still.
Are we having fun yet?

When you see a love through a camera lens,
it looks different.
It makes you crave or realize;

Crave what you desire most.
Whether it's the desire of someone
And how much you will lust after them.

Or realize what you want.
You're learning how and
what some things can be.
How many possibilities in the world there are.

But sometimes it's too much.
And when you see it,
it makes you hurt.
Physically and mentally left wondering "Why?"

Take it as motivation, ***.

Today, I kissed a boy.
I let his lips touch mine first, when I inhaled the smoke;
But I didn't care, because I didn't want to anymore.
He was tender lipped and the galaxy on his ceiling was the only other person that knew what I thought.
No regrets though.
His pipe and my lips.

I don't know how to feel.
I'll be okay.
Hope is still within' me.
There's just too much to learn how to deal.

It's as if I'm reading the Yellow Wallpaper  again.
As she walks around the room, circles, circles.
The paper learning her routine.
My mind taking the same route, man.

Allow me to smile for you;
I'm trying so hard.
And you walked out, holding hands with her.
Don't worry, that was my cue.

I lied.
Told you I was going to bed.
Both of you.
It's as if my hands were behind my back, bound and tied.

I'm gonna let this week go by.
Music and studies are calling my name.
And you all will see me around, but not for too long.
I'm sorry, it's just all one big lie.

Some kind of sad violinist I am.
Whether it's mentally or through the way my fingers move.
Notes come out flat
and rhythms come out pathetically;
but maybe it's just the violinist.
She hates the way she is
and hates the way she looks
and can't stand how everything else seems so perfect.
But some reason it's only the music that lifts her.
Some how she manages throughout the piece.
Like some how she manages throughout life.

It goes by fast, like one big blur.