The days are shorter and the nights have grown cold.
I pick myself apart because I'm tired of getting old.
I thought I pushed those demons down to my core,
but I'm still searching for that next score.
I guess that makes me a liar.
I thought I was getting better but what is getting better, anyway?
I'm just another sad kid from a shitty mid-western town;
and the winters hurt my bones,
and I'm so tired of feeling alone.
I spent so many summers planning my future.
Where will I go?
Who will I see?
Searching and searching for a better part of me.
Constantly fighting with the dark side of my brain.
I tell myself that I will do better,
and I wont let those demons win.
But my demons always win.
I guess that makes me a liar.
Counting the scars that haunt my skin that was once so clean.
So pure. So beautiful.
I search for that version of me that is so clean.
So pure. So beautiful.
She is no longer here.
She wont ever be.
How am I supposed to let people know who I am,
when I don't even know who I am?
I've worked so hard,
with nothing to show,
and I'm losing sight of what's in front of me.
Unsure of what direction to go;
And I'm so lonely,
and love isn't enough,
and I don't really know what love is, anyway.
People always leave when times get rough.
They stay around for the good but never the bad.
But what happens when I'm always bad and never good?
I fucking needed you.
But I'm still a liar.