It's not being dishonest,
It's just hiding the truth,
My eyes aren't a gateway,
They're a wall blocking you,
For if you could see,
The storms and winds,
That echo round my brain,
You'd blame yourself,
You'd be crushed by the pain

The dust is piling up,
Forgotten not weightless,
Filtering me through its rage,
This is the the man that I hate,
But if I cough,
And splutter it out,
It'll be blown back at me,
I'll be wearing it's mask,
Like an accessory

I've lived like this now,
Pressing my veins to stop,
Guiding the words,
Out from the library on top,
But atop the stairs,
They flow out free,
As months and months of wane,
Led to this moment,
To me lost in the rain.