I thought I buried you under the green grass
in the gloomy graveyard that is my past
I thought you'd gone on
to a distant land never to be seen or heard from again
I made these assumptions and tried to press onward but...
I Lost all of what made me less awkward,
I Lost my positive out look from one too many fixings of my black hole of a heart
my ****** edge is dead, that's why my Sundays have been so dry
I can't string two words to make anybody moist... so really why do I try?
I guess it's because I gave my heart to this notebook and pen,
when I was dead inside it became my closest friend,
helping me out my problems and surpass my demons,
but then everything has a season,
I guess what I'm getting at
is if you wanna try, (which I doubt)
I'm up and down for that...
So really.. why am I not the same anymore?
I thought I knew