Lately it seems,
you're into so many
different things.
While I've been sitting
on the sidelines of your
own self distruction.

I'm worried you'll
lose yourself.
I'm worried we'll
grow apart.
Because this person you're
looking for may not be
what you want.

and while you struggle
to find yourself,
I already know
who you are.

(m.a.)

I am not afraid to
fall in love.
I am afraid to
fall out of love.
I am afraid to forget what I
once felt for someone,
because I know what it's like
to be forgotten.

(m.a.)

A kiss on my wrist
won't fix the scars
on my heart.

(m.a.).

Don't talk about
depression,
like it's something
you know.
It isn't a game
that is easily beaten.
It is a battle you
constantly
fight.
It comes in flashes
more of
darkness,
than of
light.
It isn't beautiful.
The scars aren't
pure,
lovely,
or a sign of worth.
They are a sign of
hurt,
in the most
disgusting,
repulsive,
brutal way.
You took that razor,
you sliced your skin.
It wasn't to
show your pain
to the world.
It was to punish
yourself,
for being the inevitable...
you.
And if you find that
beautifully tragic,
look a little closer,
listen a little harder.
You have
no idea
what you're seeing.

(m.a.)

There's something about a pair of
old sneakers, that is just so hard to let go.
They were a part of you, for so many days.
They hold every
puddle you stepped in,
every blade of grass.
The gravel, the mud, the sand, the pavement;
it's all there.
So maybe it's not about
possesion,
maybe its just about the travels, and the memories, the ones you don't want to let go.

(m.a.)