You wrap your word so delicately
They almost feel sincere
But i can see the cracks that tear
The O's perfect sphere
Flour made of crushed fake smiles
And water from eye dew
Newspaper strips torn carelessly
And drowned in smooth white glue
Your hands are sticky from the words
You tried so hard to mould
Happiness not gifted to me
But rather your to uphold
You act as though you've done no wrong,
No fault from the start
Perhaps now you should paper mache
My bruised and bleeding heart.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
You wrap your word so delicately
They almost feel sincere
But i can see the cracks that tear
The O's perfect sphere
Flour made of crushed fake smiles
And water from eye dew
Newspaper strips torn carelessly
And drowned in smooth white glue
Your hands are sticky from the words
You tried so hard to mould
Happiness not gifted to me
But rather your to uphold
You act as though you've done no wrong,
No fault from the start
Perhaps now you should paper mache
My bruised and bleeding heart.
It was my birthday yesterday. It's amazing how many "friends" come out of the wood work to wish you. Some of whom, seemingly, only want to convince themselves that they have been a good friend to me all along.
Oh well at least it's got me writing again...
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